From Marshal To Guardian, Part One: The Crossing
by Derek Konrad
Summary: Agent Markson was an air marshal, working for the TSA, overwatching and protecting flights from any danger. On one fateful night, on flight BR82 to Boston, Markson's worst nightmare comes alive: the aircraft's electric systems are fried by a stray lightning-bolt. Seconds away from his death, Markson vanished from the craft, and reappeared somewhere else; in the world of Ga'Hoole.
1. Prologue

**Before anything is read, I just wanted to write down a few things:  
This is my first ever story on this site, and I hope that my nervousness is understandable in this situation.**

**Now, I would note down that I am used to a... different style of writing on the grammatical field of English, as this is not my primary spoken and written language; if this causes any disturbance or confusion to anyone while reading what I write, please do state it in the review section. With this, I do not wish to violate the rules and guidelines, I am just merely using what I found comfortable for the past years. Once again, if you do not like it, tell me, and I will change it immediately.**

**On the continuation of this thought though, I will write down what is different in my writing style:  
\- Quotation Marks ("He knew it; I could feel it in my bones!", he thought, "The way he looked at me, it was just... piercing"); whenever these are present, we are either talking about someone _thinking_ something (not out loud, obviously), however, it can also represent the regular usage of the punctuation itself, as usual (James described him as an annoying "busybody").**

** \- Dashes (- I know what you are; however, the less I do about the reason that you are here for - said Felias - Would not you want to tell me? - the question was sharp and straight, definitely demanding an answer); as stated above in brackets, dashes show the beginning and the end of speech; in rare cases - especially when it is needed - I also use dashes as to show that something in the textual context has a connection to the sentence, but in a minor-to-medium level of importance; just the way I did right now.**

**These are the major differences in my writing style, nothing overly complicated in my opinion.**

**Anyway, I would like to receive constructive criticism, as to determine if my story is worth to be carried on or not; for a few chapters, it might seem like that it is far away from the topic it is supposed to be in, but there is only one thing I can say about that: I personally believe that a well-developed back-story can lead up to a good main plot. It might take some time, but it should be worth it.**

_**Although it is not mentioned yet, but I do not own the Guardians of Ga'Hoole series.  
I take Christopher Markson, Samuel Broyles, Jacob Higgins, Anna Markson and Elisa Sharp as my own characters and creations.  
The Federal Air Marshal Service and the Transportation Security Administration are not my creations.**_

Prologue

The rain was literally pouring down from the sky that night, as one of the biggest storms was passing over England; constant wind, horrible visual conditions, lightning... This was not seen for at least six months.

Many believed that having flights scheduled for this day was way too dangerous, but - surprisingly enough - the airport was functional, and was sending and taking planes in and out. As always, it was full with passengers, travelling all around the globe to their own, personal destinations.

But these days, people needed a feeling of safety, something to protect them; _someone_ to protect them. This was why Markson was here:

He worked for the FAMS for at least 4 years now, and, luckily, never encountered any major complications in his career; apart from random idiots, looking for trouble or attention on flights, his interception was never required, not to mention that his pistol was never fired. At the FAMS, no air marshal served alone: Jason Higgins, ex-LAPD, was his permanent partner on all flights. The man knew his job as well as Markson did, but there was one problem with him; drinking, on all levels. He never would have left the LAPD; he was suspended for over-the-line actions, later fired, then redirected to the TSA.

He might have sounded bad, but he was not. „Never judge a book by its cover!", they said.

The years have been peaceful, his job was well-paid; Markson could not ask for anything better, and did not want to. A very rare thing in life is that we are satisfied with it.

Him? He was not fully.

If there was anything, the only he could have wished for was to spend more time with his daughter and wife - now ex-wife, to be pedantically exact; as much as he loved them, Markson could never stay in one place - always moving around did not benefited him in this way...

He had his fair share of family problems for this though: Elisa divorced him 3 years ago, she just could not live with this anymore. „But neither could she find anyone else!", he always thought with a slight hope that one day she will forgive him, „But then again, we would just start off with the same, old problems".

Despite his horrible relationship with Elisa, Christopher loved his daughter; Anna was the loveliest girl in the entire world in his opinion. Always reading or studying something, she was to grow up to be a smart person, just like her father. Whenever Markson had the chance to be back in the States for a longer period of time, he always went to see Anna, take her out for a weekend in the mountains; be it hiking or just a night or two in the woods, she always enjoyed it.

Now, that he was flying back to Boston, Christopher was looking forward to meeting his daughter and going camping with her; „This weekend - if everything goes as it should with Elisa - we are finally going to the Sam Houston National Park!", he thought happily for the previous weeks. They would stay there for 10 days, then Anna would go back to Boston, and Markson on his next flight; the two would not see each other for 6 months: this was how this worked for the previous 3 years. But this was about to change.


	2. Heathrow Airport

**Here we are, the story _actually_ begins; I am looking forward for the reviews, I re-worked this chapter at least 5 times...**

_**I do not own the Guardians of Ga'Hoole series.  
**__**I take Christopher Markson, Samuel Broyles, Jacob Higgins, Anna Markson and Elisa Sharp as my own characters and creations.  
The Federal Air Marshal Service and the Transportation Security Administration are not my creations.  
**__**Volvo and SIG Sauer are merely just mentioned for the sake of the story, not advertised or promoted.**_

Heathrow Airport

_Heathrow Airport, near London, United Kingdom_

_20:36, October 23, 2014._

_Christopher Barnes Markson, Federal Air Marshal Service, TSA_

Christopher was currently sitting in his Volvo S60, which was provided by the agency for him when spending time in the UK; the rain, constantly pattering on the car's windscreen, did not seemed to cease for days. Waiting for his supervisor to give him his next flight's details, he had nothing better to do than wait - but waiting bored him.

Markson was always an enthusiastic reader, going through any book he could get his hands on was easy for him; from science-fictions to fantasies, he enjoyed everything. Right now, he was reading something that Anna gave to him at his last visit as a gift; he thought much of it - like to anything that was given to him by his daughter - but Markson had the feeling that he is a bit old for this.

The book - _The Journey_, to be called by its title - was a fantasy-story about owls, and although a _fantasy_, it was surprisingly realistic on various levels of anatomy and biology. Christopher still thought of it _only_ as a book; he liked to focus only on reality: reading did occupy him for the requisite amount of time, but it was only for that, nothing else. That was what he always thought.

While reading a passage on page 41, Markson's phone, all of a sudden, started vibrating in his pocket, all mixed with the loud and abrupt sound of the classical, yet annoying _ring_.

Jumping a bit at the sound, he put the bookmarker between the pages, placed the item on the seat next to him, then reached inside his coat. The display of the phone did show a caller; Samuel Broyles, his director at the TSA. He swiped to the left on the screen with his finger, picking up the incoming call.

\- Yes? - he asked while he opened the car's door to exit; he also took his shoulder bag with himself, along with the book, which was put into the previously mentioned carrying equipment.

\- It is Sam, Chris - the voice of a man around his 40s sounded on the other end of the line - Are you feeling alright? Are there any complications? - he sounded concerned.

\- Yeah, of course - answered Markson casually - No problems, other than this damn weather! - this was said in more of a joking way.

\- They say the aerial corridors are clear up at flying altitude. Everything will be fine, do not you worry about that - rustling of papers was heard in the background - You are assigned to flight BR82, Boston - there was probably nothing that Christopher hated more than flying, despite the nature of his job - Are you looking forward to see Anna? - Broyles could have been believed to know the most about Markson's personal life; he was a... personal supporter of Barnes, always standing next to him in desperate times to assist if needed.

\- You bet! - he smiled - Houston National - referred Chris to the intended location of the off-job travel.

\- Good choice - for some reason, Broyles hesitated about saying something. After a few seconds, he finally started - Chris, listen, I need to tell you something: the...

At that moment, Samuel's voice was suppressed by an airplane flying overhead; Markson looked up with an annoyed face at the source of the ground-shaking sound, then shouted into the phone.

\- Sam, just wait for a second, I cannot... - he sighed, which was, for obvious reasons, inaudible - There is a plane over here, give me time until it passes!

He started to make his way towards the main entrance for departures, crossing the car park in the almost blinding rain. If this keeps up, he is going to be all soaked before even reaching the cover of the building; he just hoped that the phone can withstand this amount of water. The parking was not empty; it was _deserted_ Before reaching the cover of the building though, he could see a lightning bolt striking down, hitting the ground somewhere in the distance. „Sam, you better be right about the weather!", he thought angrily.

Chris arrived in front of a photoelectric door, which automatically opened, and he stepped inside the terminal.

\- Sam? - he raised the phone back to his ear while heading towards the security checkpoint - Sam, are you there...? - the familiar _beep_ of a call ending could be heard - Damn - he checked the screen: no signal. „Terrific", he thought.

Markson put the phone back in his coat. The terminal was full, even at this hour; he needed to concentrate to find a way through.

His chances of finding out what Broyles wanted were equal to zero; at least until the weather returned to the normal state. If it will ever do: for days, this whole disaster of a rain and storm was over the UK; Chris just wanted to finally see the sunlight.

Now that he was approaching the guards' stand, he, unintentionally, but could feel the SIG Sauer P229 pistol pressing against his waist - the weapon he always carried with himself, be it in his work, or as a civilian. This was a heavy burden to bear, hard to get used to. Some never could.

\- Sir, please place all items on the tray, we will check through your belongings - said one of the guards in a bored voice, which Markson, as an answer, nodded to.

Although, before he picked anything out from his pockets or put his bag down, he raised his ID, which the security immediately recognised. On the tray, Christopher placed out a pack of chewing gums, a personal notebook, his phone, the international ID, and, finally, Anna's present - the book.

The guard, before starting the conveyor belt, looked at Markson in a questioning way. Christopher noticed him doing this, and quickly looked for a way out; he did not like awkward situations.

\- It is... for my daughter. She likes to read a lot! - he added with a smile; the only problem with his statement was that the bookmark he put in there a few minutes ago was hanging out with such an obvious clarity that Barnes could feel himself faintly go red.

\- Whatever you say, sir - an almost invisible smile went upon the face of the guard, who then started to check through Markson's stuff with the x-ray device.

As to decrease the sheer unpleasant feeling, Markson walked over to the metal detector, where the colleague of the guard signaled him to walk over to his side. No one could see it, but, just before Chris walked through, the operator disabled the device, so Barnes could get across without a signal given off by the machine, which would have otherwise detected his sidearm. After a few seconds, his bag was picked up, then the security guard talked again - Clear - then handed over Chris' sidebag - Have a good flight, sir!

\- Thank you - nodded Barnes, and took his bag.

No more than 20 minutes later, Christopher was sitting in the massive hall of the terminal, waiting for the flight gate to open. Once again, with nothing better to do, he took out _The Journey_ from his bag, and carried on reading it; page 50 he got to in the past minutes, while drinking a hot cup of coffee, which normally calmed him down before the flights. So far, nothing especially thrilling was found by him in the story or between the paragraphs; as mentioned before, just a time-spending activity.

Then, the pleasant voice of a woman was heard through some well-hidden speakers as one of the destinations was announced:

\- All passengers of flight BR82, please proceed to boarding gate 72, I repeat, all passengers to Boston, Massachusetts... - Markson stopped listening to the announcement, once Higgins sat down next to him.

\- Sir, I am afraid that you are carrying illegal equipment with yourself - he whispered on a low voice only Christopher could hear.

\- I was meant to tell you about the weaponry I have in my bag? - asked Markson on the same volume, with pretended seriousness.

For 5 seconds, there was total silence, then the two bursted out laughing, attracting a couple of strange looks from various people. When they calmed down, Christopher cleared his throat, and began to speak in a quiet tone:

\- Although, you do know about one thing; protocol - then he added with a more serious note - You do know that we are not supposed to talk with each other, am I correct? - this was partially a minor, but still scornful remark, made clear by a well-hidden glance at Higgins' face.

The other person gave off an emphasised sigh, then reached inside his coat. A second later, a phone appeared in Jacob's right hand, which he opened up, and started to type on; what he was writing was different question, which Markson found out the answer at the glimpse of a moment.

Christopher's phone vibrated for a short time, then stayed totally still; he put his hand inside the suit he was wearing, picked out the item, unlocked the screen, and checked the message he received from Agent Higgins.

„You always had a way to get around obstacles, did not you?", he laughed in himself. The text on the device was read; _I am familiar with the regulations, thank you, but I also understand that you are nervous about flights, especially about tonight's_.

Barnes touched the screen, and started typing the following, which was only one word; _Indeed_.

He stood up, as it was time for them to go to the boarding gate. Needless to say, Higgins would stay at least a 100 meters behind, as to not cause suspicion, which could be detected by anyone; after all, they were both undercover, despite the minor break of FAMS regulations they just made.

For a few minutes, he was walking through the long corridor which led to the boarding gate they were meant to go to, crowded by all kind of people, but not as much that it caused difficulties in moving around.

Once again, his phone vibrated, which led him to take it out, and check the screen, that read; _What? Are you just going to leave me hanging?_ Chris shook his head and smiled, then started to type the following with a minor difficulty, as he was in the middle of walking somewhere: _No; you should follow, or you will..._ \- but he could not finish this action, as he bumped into someone else; the sudden collision caused him to drop his phone, which fell apart to pieces on the hard floor.

„Ah, crap!", he swore in thought, then started to apologise out loud:

\- Sorry, sir, I could not see you there, I... - Chris looked up, and saw a medium sized man in a green track suit, a pair of drawstring sweatpants with the same colour, finished off with a beanie hat on his head; the face had a serious look, although with eyes looking tired. The guy was just staring back at him; there was no problem with that, but the way he was gazing down, it was just simply strange: there was something in that look, something that showed... Dislike? Hate? Hostility?

Chris have been in this work for long enough, he knew what people looked like when they felt different emotions, thought of something else, or just bluffed with their facial expressions. This guy?

He was doing it right now.

As the man seemed to have snapped out of his... „staring-state", words finally came out from his mouth. He spoke with a European accent - one of the other things Markson would immediately notice - possibly Northern; Sweden, Norway, maybe even Denmark.

\- Think nothing of it - he said simply - It was an accident, was it not? - the man leaned down to pick up the object that fell apart, then handed the pieces over to Markson.

\- Thank you, sir - he nodded and took the phone. For a moment, the eyes of the two locked: Christ could see the green coloured iris of the man, the pupil closing in - way too much, like he was about to lunge at Barnes. But nothing happened. Two different directions they walked towards now, Markson towards boarding gate 72, and the man... Well, who knows?

As an effect of compunction, Chris turned back and shouted across the 50 meters distance between him and the guy:

\- And again, sorry for the trouble! - but no reaction came from the individual, what is more, Barnes failed to spot him in the crowd. While stretching his neck to see where the green-eyed man disappeared to, someone else crashed into Chris, almost pushing him over again, but, this time, he managed to stay on his feet.

\- Sorry - said an old woman, with an innocent look on her face. Markson just smiled and nodded one:

\- It is my fault, I was just... gazing off, I got a bit carried away - he started to walk again, towards his objective, and, while doing so, they kept talking with the old woman.

\- Oh, do not worry, sweetheart, it happens to me as well! - smiled the lady - First time on an airport? - she asked in a very warm way.

\- Actually, no - answered Chris - This is like the hundredth time I am here, I know this place off my hand - this was true; even though Markson was supposed to stay undercover, but, in a way, these kinds of conversations facilitate the process of earning other people's trust - or just simply deceiving them.

The old woman smiled kindly, which, in some way, comforted the minimally nervous Christopher.

\- What do you work as, sweety? - asked the woman curiously.

Now these cases were different: Markson obviously could not say that he was an air marshal; on these occasions he needed to lie. But it was for the better.

\- Well... - he hesitated, then something came to his mind - I am currently employed at a publishing agency. The one that is involved with books, mostly - „This should be good enough for her to believe!".

\- Oh, really? - said the old lady with pretended curiousness.

„Why ask of you do not care?", though Markson with a small amount of anger, „Maybe you care, but about different informations?". Then he realised what he was just thinking; technically, he was accusing an old lady, which at this very current time, he should not really have. „Usual suspects, I guess"; for an air marshal, anyone could be suspect: whichever ethnicity, language, class, age... There was no picking when it came to his duty; the real enemy is deceiving, not obvious.

He sighed: instead of relieving his stress, he was building up more and more to it, not a good thing to do before flights. Nevertheless, this was what kept him focused and sharp once they were up at 35000 feet.

\- Is everything fine, dear? - asked the lady with concern, now not pretending anything - You look very pale to me! - she looked at Christopher in a motherly way.

\- Yes, I just... get nervous prior to flights, it goes away after a while - he waved with his hand.

The boarding gate was to his left, and, by the looks of it, the lady was going somewhere else than Barnes did. Being polite, he considered to say goodbye.

\- Well, I think this is where we part ways! - smiled Markson, and stopped to shaked hands with the old lady; his sudden halt caused some angry moans and quiet complaints behind him, but, as soon as he looked at these people, silence came. Chris held out one arm - Have a good flight, ma'am!

\- You too, Barnes! - they shook hands, then parted ways.

While looking upwards to find the board showing number 72 - which would have depicted the direction he needs to take to the boarding gate - he started to think about the reason why the old lady reminded him of someone.

„She was a bit like Anna after all", he thought, „Polite, caring, and, on top of all..."

„She knew my name", jumped into his mind, then, immediately, his rational thinking kicked in; he swiveled around to check where the woman was. Markson needed to remember that he was still undercover, although he could feel a barely resistable urge to unholster his weapon. Expected by him, the old lady was nowhere to be seen.

If there would have been any signal, or if his phone would have been in one piece in the first place, Chris' objective would have been to call his supervisor, and report this in; but this was not an option now.

\- Your boarding pass and ID, please, sir - a young lady in an American Airlines uniform asked for the documents. To this, Markson not only showed his pass and identification, but, in a concealed way, his FAM badge as well. The woman paid specific attention so that the proof of Barnes' position stayed out from civilians' visual range. After they finished with the legal check of the documents, those were handed back to Chris, who now started to go through the gateway that lead to the aircraft.

He checked his watch: 21:04; 26 minutes until take-off. Looking behind, he spotted Higgins, standing at the end of the long line, waiting to get on the plane. Markson nodded to him lightly, a signal that everything is alright; Jacob reciprocated the movement, then started to type something on his phone.

„If you want to send something to me, that is not going to work!", he thought bitterly, and started to walk through the bridge that connected the terminal to the aircraft.

Just 9 hours from now, then he will be with Anna. „You will get through this, Chris!", he calmed himself, "You did before, you will do again!"

The storm raged outside, unceasable by anything; rain, lightning and massive winds. All together, this was the worst flight Markson was looking at in the past 4 years. Little did he knew about the event that was to occur later this night.


	3. InterNat Airlines Flight BR82

**Back again, after 3-4 days of development.  
Without any intentions of aggression (merely just to remind people), I will put out a little R&amp;R on the end of chapters, starting here; I do not wish to force anything and this writing _is_ quite short in its current state, but I will require some remarks and feedback (even criticism, even better it is constructive) eventually. Please do not keep me in the dark, I need to know if this is any good or bad; help me find the problem, and I will correct it.  
Anyway, on with the story now!**

_**I do not own the Guardians of Ga'Hoole series.  
**__**I take Christopher Markson, Samuel Broyles, Jacob Higgins, Anna Markson, Elisa Sharp, Susan Margolyes, Mark O'Neill, Boyd Tate and Robert Watts as my own characters and creations.  
The Federal Air Marshal Service, the Transportation Security Administration, and The Daily Telegraph are not my creations.**_

InterNat Airlines Flight BR82

_International Flight BR82, Heathrow Airport, near London, United Kingdom_

_21:13, October 23, 2014._

_Christopher Barnes Markson, Federal Air Marshal Service, TSA_

\- D1, first class - said a female flight attendant, who was escorting passengers to their seats - On the right side of the aisle, next to the window - she smiled at Markson.

\- Thank you - replied Chris. He knew her personally - likewise with the majority of the crew; Susan Margoyle, she grew up in the same place he did - they used to be childhood friends for a while, then the university separated them. Such an interesting twist life took when they met each other in this job. What are the chances? Almost nothing.

While walking towards the mentioned place, Barnes took out an item from his coat's pocket, which resembled regular earphones. After placing his bag above the seat, into the baggage container, he sat down - more like fell into - his place; as he saw one of the attendants walking up and down the aisle, he spoke up.

\- Excuse me, sir! - a moderately young man turned around, searching for the direction the request came from. As to help him out, Chris waved at him, which he did finally notice, and moved up to the seat - Could I have a bottle of water, when you get the chance? - Markson asked politely, which the man smiled and nodded to. As the attendant walked off, Chris put the equipment in his ear.

Now, he did not needed to do anything else, only to lean back and relax - probably read. But, before he did so, protocol required him to report in via his phone.

„Damn, my phone!", he thought in a panic, and took out all the pieces; the device's body, the back cover, and the accumulator - more commonly known as a battery. This was basic, the screen did not brake, neither did the body: the phone was unharmed, he just needed to place the energy cell back in its place, and seal it with the back cover - simple.

„Come on, you piece of junk!", he almost said this out loud, but restrained himself in the last moment, and decided to release his anger in thought instead; Markson held his finger on the button that turned the phone on and off, and waited for the screen to light up, which - ten seconds later - it did.

\- Pardon me, sir - he heard a voice, but barely looked up; someone - probably the person, who will sit next to him for the flight - was trying to take his place, but Chris' bag was in the way - Could you...?

\- Of course - answered Barnes before the man finished, then raised the carrying equipment that occupied the place neighboring to him. While doing so, he did not even look up from his phone, which was starting up in a slowly-but-surely way.

\- Uh... Thank you - answered the guy in a surprised manner, as the speed and style of the response he just received did catch him off guard. After regaining his senses, he sat down.

In the meanwhile, Markson's phone finally turned on; he proceeded towards the „Messages" section, selected the name „Broyles", then started typing: _TSA Central, this is Agent Markson, I need update on my objective!_

For a few minutes, he waited for an answer, but the small icon on the top of the screen kept showing that there was no signal.

He sighed, and touched the screen; _In case your message cannot reach me due to the weather, be advised that both me and Agent Higgins are a go._ After this was sent, Chris locked the phone, and slid it in his pocket. It was then that the communications between the cockpit and the control tower started.

\- BR82, this is ground, report in, please! - the earpiece Markson always used might have had a striking similarity to an ordinary earset, used to listen to music, but, in his case, it was the in-the-line of protocol a way of communication with his partner, the cockpit, and - in clearer weather conditions - his director at the FAMS. Right now, the procedures prior to a takeoff were being heard on the frequency by him.

\- Flight tower, this is BR82, we are ready for taxi to Runway A3 and disconnect ground-power - said the pilot, whom was known by Chris for the past... „3, 4 years?", he thought, „I am pretty sure that Troy retired in 2011. Yes, he did; well, then that is 3 years I knew O'Neill for. Hm. It did not seemed this long before".

\- Copy that, Flight 82, please carry on - came the „all clear" from the control tower.

There was probably a co-pilot in the cockpit as well, but Chris was not sure about who he was; the last first officer he knew about on this flight was Phillip Wyson, but he retired last month. This „new guy" was literally a new guy to him.

Markson checked his watch; it was 21:21, already one minute off schedule. Looking up, he saw someone that he did not expected to see; _Mr. Sweatpants_, as Barnes started to call of the... unusual man he met in terminal, was walking down the aisle, apparently avoiding the marshal's look; but he could not possibly know that he was one, how could he? „No chance!", he reassured himself in thought, and started to look for the flight attendant he was a few minutes ago. „I could use some cold water right now!"; this was followed by a deep sigh. After a minute, the pilot started to commence the routine preparations.

\- Right, start the engines, Rob! I will do the talking - he laughed on his latter sentence, only heard in the cockpit and by Markson.

\- Good evening, ladies and gentlemen, welcome aboard InterNat Flight 82, direct route to Boston - this came through the speakers now, as it was a public greeting from the pilot - I am your captain, Mark O'Neill, flying along with First Officer Robert Watts - the captain kept a short pause before carrying on; while this happened, the lights turned off, except the small ones over the seats - Despite the harsh weather, we expect an easy flight this evening; we may come across some minor turbulence, but apart from those, we should be fine, and will arrive to Boston in no more than 7 hours. We will take off from the runway soon - Markson could feel the light vibration that was passed onto the aircraft from the engines. For a moment, he started to feel dizzy, but, as soon as he strengthened his grip on the armrests, his head returned to a normal state.

The plane began to roll onto the runway now; some additional radio chatter was heard by Chris either through the speakers, or his earpiece:

\- Flight attendants, please be seated and ready for takeoff - O'Neill gave out the instructions, then, on the closed channel of the cockpit, started talking to Watts - How are we tonight, Rob?

\- Uh, a bit shaky, due to this bloody weather, but I am fine otherwise - the tinge of a British gentleman's accent was easily noticeable in his voice, in contrast with O'Neill, who was American, bearing a different dialect.

\- Shaky? - laughed the captain - I know someone else who is shaky on flights! - a strange feeling started to build up in Markson.

\- Really? - asked the first officer with an interested tone - Who would that be? - but, before he could get an answer, he stopped O'Neill - Wait, wait, wait! - there was silence for a few seconds - It cannot be Susan, she always loved to be up in the air! - upon hearing the name, Markson made a small motion, although involuntarily; he never abandoned the idea of reuniting with Elisa somehow, but, if that fateful day when she would find another man came... Well, Chris always fancied Susan a bit - Definitely not Peter, he fears the water, not the air - Watts kept thinking; at least, that was what Markson thought. He could not see what was happening, but could read people well, even if it was only their voices - Oh, I know! - came the sound of sudden realisation; Barnes' heart skipped a beat. Were they talking about him? - Isn't it that marshal guy? - they were talking about him - What was his name again, Walkerson? No, it was Hutchson, wasn't it?

\- Neither! - he heard O'Neill's answer and laughter - It is Markson, Rob, Chris Markson - while listening to this, Barnes did not even notice that the aircraft had approached the runway, and was seconds from takeoff.

\- BR82, you are cleared for takeoff on runway A3 - the control tower was heard through the frequency, which the captain was quick to respond to.

\- Copy, ground, thanks! - this was the last sentence spoken between the two sides, then the control tower did not say anything else. Seconds after, O'Neill started to talk with Watts again - So, about Markson: as I said, he is quite afraid of flights; he _is_ shaky! For instance, there was this one time when we were flying to New York - „Do not tell him, Mark!", ordered Chris in thought.

\- And? What happened? - „Do not you dare!", shouted Barnes in the same way; in his head. He was not sure what it was that O'Neill wanted to mention, but whatever it was, it could not have been any good; only something awkward or embarrassing, which did occasionally occur in the past 4 years.

\- Well, he was just casually in his seat, enjoying one of the free meals provided to all passengers, then, we got into a turbulence, and he... - this was how long Markson could bare the conversation; he lived through this once, he did not wish to hear it again. He took out the earpiece, and put it back in his bag. While doing so, his hand crashed into something: Anna's present, the book; after a short consideration of actions, Chris took it out, and put it on his lap. For a few seconds, he was just staring at the item, wondering about to what to do with it. But, before he could conclude anything, he felt a sudden surge of adrenaline; for a few moments, he was not sure what it was, although, seconds later, realised that the plane started to speed up, ready to take into the air. Since this took him by surprise, Markson, acting in a panicked haste, grabbed the edges of his seat, but, while doing so, the book dropped from his legs, and fell onto the floor; before he could pick it up, the aircraft already started to ascend, which resulted in his hurried movement. He managed to grab the object and raise it, but, as to stay in the feeling of safety, Chris quickly straightened back up and squeezed hard on the armrests again, and, with his left hand, strongly pressed the book against his own chest.

\- First time flying? - Barnes jumped a bit upon hearing a voice, which turned out to belong to a balding man, probably around his late 30s, wearing a two-piece suit and tie; the guy who sat down before the takeoff. He was holding the newest issue of _The Daily Telegraph_, that he was probably reading beforehand; the glasses he wore supported this.

\- No, no - smiled Markson, and breathed in deep; these questions were asked from him frequently and he needed to give the exact same dumb answer, all the time - I just have this kind of... - he sighed before continuing - I cannot really explain well myself, but it is almost like a phobia - he bluffed, because this always worked; „People never listened closely anyway".

\- Ah, Aviophobia! - „Well then!", thought Chris as the man said the unexpected sentence, „We are going to have some problems here!". This was the first person to ever acknowledge what he only used for a casual answer - Would not that result in some kind of hysteric or panic attack? - now the guy had him; in these types of situations, Barnes needed to think _real_ fast to give a proper answer.

\- I said _almost_ like a phobia - he looked at the bald man, who did the same - I tend to overreact on some things... - it was then that the guy interrupted him.

\- So you are attitudinising? - Markson now knew what type of person this man was; the kind that always expressed and practiced his knowledge on others: sometimes tolerable, but unbearable on the larger part of occasions.

\- Did you hear me say that? - Chris gave him a withering look; he hated people with these characteristics.

\- Individuals do not directly state that they are attitudinisers, instead, they avoid saying it, but still act as...

\- I am _not_ one of them! - said Markson with an edge in his voice that suggested the rapid loss of patience - Does that answers your question? - at this, the bald man just gave out a „_hmph_" sound, as to show that he still thought of himself as a higher individual; Barnes strongly disagreed.

Then, unexpectedly, the guy held out his hand in front of Chris:

\- Boyd Tate - the marshal was just staring at the man's hand, which he appeared to notice - Listen, I do not wish to be in a conflict with you, I did not planned to start off this way.

\- Right - Markson shook his hand - No offense taken, sir - he tried to stay as neutral as he could, but this guy did anger him for a minute; but he got over it quick.

Opening up his bag, he detected an empty space; where was the book? In an alarmed flow of action, Markson started looking for it by turning everything upside-down, inside-out, but he could not find it.

Before panicking even further, he remembered where it was; but, when checking his chest, the item was nowhere to be found. Gazing around, he spotted the book on the floor - again.

Sighing, he leaned downwards, and picked it up, then checked between the pages; no damage. A well-known fact is that nothing good lasts forever; Tate strengthened this statement, as he started to talk again.

\- Is that what you read? - he asked, not really trying to cover his disbelief - I used to study that! - Boyd kept a silence long enough, so it could be noticed - With a group of children, back in the school I teached in - another pause he kept, but this was significantly longer. Then, the calm silence was broken by him, again - By the way, you did not tell me your name!

„So that is what this was all about!", thought Markson with a minor victory in his mind, „Using surrounding events, so you can force out informations? Smart!", this was rather more reproachful.

\- Tim - said Chris after a short period of thinking - Tim Montague.

After this, Tate did say something, but Markson was not listening anymore; they were up in the air for at least 10 minutes now - this was going to be a long flight, especially in the vicinity of Boyd.

Christopher could not think of anything better to ignore him, but to read _The Journey_; page 50 he turned to, that was where he left off at the terminal. His phone still not received an answer, he was not even sure that it sent the message in the first place. „I will need to check up with Higgins eventually, even if this requires me to break the protocol, again".

\- Hello? Can you hear me? - Tate threw him off his private thinking, which Markson reacted to by just glancing at him lightly. Boyd did not seem - or did not wanted to - notice this - Finally! I was asking you about the job you do! - the way he spoke started to put Chris on the edge now; everyone has a point where they lose it. Also, the tone the man used just simply irritated him.

\- I work in a book publisher's office - the same cover story, repeated over and over again for 4 years. Once, he will get bored of it; then he will make up something new.

\- Did they, at least, publish the one you are reading? - asked Tate, in a very fake pretension of seriousness.

As an answer, Markson turned his head, and looked at him in the most intimidating and obnoxious way he possibly could; at this, Boyd seemed to have finally noticed himself, and got back to his newspaper.

„At last, you shut up!", thought Barnes, who felt that spending another hour with this man _will_ drive him mad, especially if he carried on talking.

Markson checked his watch: 21:44, time is going on... „Where is that damn water?", he wondered in a weak way, and scanned the first class; the flight attendant was nowhere around, he was probably having a break with the other staff in the front.

A lightning-bolt passed a few hundred meters next to the plane, causing a blinding light for a couple of seconds. This caused Chris' heart to hasten up to two times its normal speed; for the past minutes, he did not notice that he was sweating on his forehead; he took out a paper tissue from his pocket, and started to wipe the sweat off. "Just breath in, then out; you are going to be fine!", he tried to calm himself, while he shut his eyes tightly. The behaviour of his body seemed strange to him: his throat went dry, breathing could be done hardly, dizziness took over him, he almost felt dazed. Usually, Chris was only afraid of the sudden and unexpected descends, which normally happened when a turbulence was encountered by the pilots; but now, he felt that he is going to be sick. This never happened before. "Hah, maybe you are just getting old!", he thought, "Just wait for that water to arrive, then..."

\- Whoa! Are you feeling alright? - Tate spoke, although he actually sounded anxious.

\- What do you mean? - asked Markson in a stressed voice, still grasping strongly into the edges of his seat, breathing heavily. If there was anything he needed right now, that was definitely _not_ Boyd.

\- Of course, who am I telling this to? - originally, Chris interpreted this sentence in a way that made Tate seem like a total snob; but the man carried on, which changed the outcome of Barnes' opinion and taken action as well - There are no mirrors around here, but, believe me, you look as pale as a wall! Now that I think about it - he pointed towards the window the seat was next to - Take a look at yourself there!

\- I appreciate your concern, sir, but looking outside is the last thing I want to do right now. I... - without any warning, the plane fell at least 5 meters downwards; Markson twitched, as his stomach felt like it was moving up in his chest. He already started to detect the feelings of nausea, and did not knew how long he will manage to hold out without...

\- Do you need a pill, or some kind of medication to calm yourself? - asked Tate, who has been surprisingly sympathetic in the previous minute - I have some different tablets in my bag if you...

\- Currently - Chris stopped him mid-talk - I will only require a moment, do not worry about me! - Markson could feel that the way he spoke was more aggressive than he wanted it to be; it was too late to apologise now though.

Another aerial bump shook the plane: this time, Barnes did not even bother to tighten his grasp on the armrests; due to the fact that he was already gripping them with all of his power. If more turbulence will be encountered on the way... Markson did not even wanted to think of it. He was still feeling sick; only if he could just talk with Higgins or finally get that stupid bottle of water...

\- Ladies and gentlemen, do fasten your seatbelts, we are currently flying through an unexpected turbulence - it was the captain, heard from the speakers overhead - If you could please remain in your seats until we manage to get out from the winds, that would be greatly appreciated, thank you! - although some passengers did understand that the pilot just tried to calm the people and laughed afterwards, O'Neill's entertaining way of speech did not help Chris in any way.

Unanticipatedly - well, half-anticipated by now - the plane took another hit from the winds, causing the most considerable shake of the aircraft that day; some bags even fell out from the baggage holders. Markson's stomach was beginning to give in. Another one of these shakes, and... "Do not think about it!", he was trying to avoid the apparent inevitable, "You will _not_ throw up!". Then again, another turbulence got into the path of the airplane...

„That is it, back of the plane, now!", he commanded himself, but realised that this would be quite pointless, as he have not sent a text to Higgins to inform him - yet.

_Could you meet me at rear lavatory? Thanks!_, he typed, sent, then put away his phone. Five minutes later, when he believed that his partner reached the desired place, Markson undid his seatbelt, stood up, and started to walk - rather weakly - towards the back of the plane, where he was meant to meet Jacob.


	4. Situation Mid-Air

**This latest chapter took its time (along with me), but the story continues on.  
Since the last post, I received two reviews, both were very helpful and encouraging, thank you for your support guys!  
Anyway, on with the interesting part!**

_**I do not own the Guardians of Ga'Hoole series.  
**__**I take Christopher Markson, Samuel Broyles, Jacob Higgins, Anna Markson, Elisa Sharp, Susan Margolyes, Mark O'Neill, Boyd Tate, Robert Watts, the West-American (Becker), German (Müller), Russian (Keshnyev), French (Hibou) and Swedish (Forsberg) man as my own characters and creations.  
The Federal Air Marshal Service and the Transportation Security Administration are not my creations.  
**__**Heckler &amp; Koch and SIG Sauer are merely just mentioned for the sake of the story, not advertised or promoted.**_

Situation Mid-Air

_International Flight BR82, Heathrow Airport, near London, United Kingdom_

_21:53, October 23, 2014._

_Christopher Barnes Markson, Federal Air Marshal Service, TSA_

It did not matter for a second how hard he tried, in the end, the process was unstoppable, and the feeling of nausea defeated him right after he arrived in the back of the plane. The speed he rushed into the lavatory with did not allow him to look around for Higgins, but meeting with his partner did not seem any important to Markson at the current situation, as he... Well, some things are better left untold.

After Chris was relieved of his sickness, he leaned down to the basin to wash his face with cold, refreshing water - he even rinsed his mouth; for a moment, the thought of drinking did cross his mind, but rejected the idea in the last minute: having bottled and clear liquid in someone's system was better to consume, if accessible, especially after what he just went through. When he will actually finish his discussion and briefing with Higgins, Barnes will personally go and get himself some water, as the attendant failed to do this simple task.

Looking up, Markson could see his fatigued and worn-out face, still pale white and weak from the physical exhaustion the emesis caused on him; bloodshot eyes, dark circles under them; Chris looked exactly like a person who did not sleep for days. The only problem was that the past three days were slept through by him, as to get him ready for this travelling method.

It was then, that he started to spot the abnormalities on himself: something was out of the ordinary, due to some kind of red fluid, leaking from his nose...

„Blood!", he realised with a shock, and touched the region under his nose; „A nosebleed?", he thought. Hoping that this was only his imagination, Markson slowly moved his hand back, to see if anything was on his fingers. To his total dismay, there was; the vital fluid was smudged all over his left index and middle finger.

„Did a blood vessel burst?", wondered Barnes, and took out a paper tissue from his pocket, which he used to wipe off the blood; „How could it possibly have? I never had any nosebleeds, and I am 35!". He just realised that a strong trembling took over him, which he responded to by clutching into the edge of the sink, which did stabilise him - although barely. He looked up slowly, and caught his own, quivering gaze, filled with the look of confusion and comprehension.

All of a sudden, Markson felt the unavoidable urge to cough, forcing him to lower his head downwards - yet, this time, it felt painful; the irregularity in the otherwise natural flow of events was that seconds after it ended, Chris saw the sight of blood again; but this time, in the sink, sluggishly progressing down to the drain.

Panicked, Barnes raised his head, and saw his face again, but now, the red fluid was oozing from his lips; he would have been swift to use the paper handkerchief again, but, for some inexplicable reason, he spat out instead, which coloured the sink in a way that would have been disturbing to another person.

However, Chris noticed something that he believed to be just some hallucinated vision, produced by the shock; thereupon he realised that he was not imagining things, but rather perceiving reality:

Markson was not mentally scarred or damaged, he was fully capable of duty - otherwise, he would not be here in the first place; he could answer _any_ type of a question, especially if that was about the colour of his eye, which was brown.

There was only one problem with this right now: in the mirror, he could perfectly see every single detail of his iris, its unique pattern, the clean structure, nothing exceptional, nothing, that would have caused such a reaction in him; excluding the faint, but distinct tinge of blue in both eyes, right around the edges of the iris, spreading inwards, re-painting his oculus by every minute that passed.

„What the hell is happening to me?", he asked the rhetorical question, „Whatever this is, it is definitely _not_ normal!", he thought, and stared at his own reflection in disbelief and dread; this was not the best place to be consumed by despair, but Chris could not do anything. He had no reasonable or logical idea about what he was experiencing, but one matter he knew: there was something awful going on here.

While Markson was paralyzed by fear, due to the consternation of the past minutes, he did not notice the abruptly loud noise of someone knocking on the toilet's door. After the individual carried on for a few seconds, Barnes snapped out from his trance-like state and came to his senses, he could actually hear what was happening around him:

\- Agent Markson? - another sound of a hand hitting against the door sounded; before Chris could respond, the person, who he recognised to be a woman, spoke in a more concerned and caring way - Chris, are you feeling alright?

„Susan!", came his mind to a quick recognition, while another matter came to his head; „I cannot go out like this!", he referred to his face's current appearance in thought, but, after realizing what he just literally said in his head, Barnes snapped on himself: „You are the air marshal! Who cares if you are pale, or bleeding from the nose! Go out there, get yourself some water, and whip shape up!", Markson motivated himself in a more aggressive way.

\- Can you hear me, Chris? - the knock came even more louder, almost painful to his ears.

In a desperate - and, for some reason, tense - way, Barnes was quick to answer:

\- Yeah, I am fine! - he shouted, to make sure that he was audible outside - Give me a minute! - looking up, he could still see that darn blue colour in his irises, growing larger and larger... „Only if you would know", he whispered in thought.

For the last time, Chris wiped away the blood from the underside of his still bleeding nose, put the paper tissue away, opened the tap to wash the red fluid down the sink, then, finally, opened the door of the lavatory.

\- Susan - he said after stepping out, which a brown-haired woman responded to by turning; for a second, she looked happy to see Markson, but her facial expression promptly changed to a mix of surprise and worry.

\- Chris! - she walked away from the counter that held many different foods, and - to Barnes' relief - water bottles; Margolyes moved up to him, not hiding her shock and alarm - My God, what happened?

„Concerned, like you always were!", thought Markson with happiness inside him; this was why he liked Susan: she had feeling for people, whatever the cost was.

\- I am alright, just some... minor ailment, it is gone now! - he smiled at the woman, but could see on Margolyes' face that she did not believe him; Chris changed the topic - Listen, Susan, I would need to speak with Jacob. Do you know his seat number? - but he spotted what he did not expected on the woman's face: anxiety.

\- That is what I wanted to ask you about, Chris - „What is she talking about?", thought the mentioned person - Agent Higgins is not on the plane.

This struck down on Markson like one of the lightning bolts that were constantly setting the dark skies ablaze outside would probably have. This means that he was technically all alone on a flight; not that it was endangered by anything else than the weather, not to mention that there was not a suspicious person on board. Except that... „Ah, not even him", he thought.

\- Chris? - he could hear Susan talking to, which he only noticed, despite that she said the same thing at least six times.

\- Sorry, I just gazed off for a moment - Markson dried his ever-sweating forehead - How... What do you mean he is not on the plane?

\- I noticed not longer after takeoff - she said in a low voice - Heathrow reported to the captain that Agent Higgins collapsed before entering the aircraft, in front of the boarding gate - Barnes was speechless - They said it was... cardiac arrest or something similar, but I have no idea, and...

\- It is OK - Chris put his hand on the flight attendant's shoulder, to calm her - But this makes no sense to me - he walked over to the counter that had all the foods and drinks, and opened a bottle of water - Jacob was 31; he had no problems with his heart! I knew him for 4 years, he never... - instead of finishing the sentence, Chris just sighed, and took a sip from the water; the cold liquid felt highly refreshing and satisfying as it trickled down his gullet; his stomach, which was raging since the emesis, now seemed to cool down, partially ceasing his constant sensation of weakness and vulnerability. After he finished with the half of the bottle, Chris exhaled in a contented way, and carried on talking - Is he alive at least? - he asked in a concerned fashion.

\- I do not know - Susan looked at him sadly, right in the eyes; but then, her facial expression changed slowly to a mix of curiousness, surprise, and puzzlement. She hurried towards Markson, which he did not understood at first, but then it dawned upon him - What is this?

Barnes checked all over himself, as to ensure that there was no blood on his clothes; the jacket was clean, the trousers he wore were spotless; the problem itself was somewhere else to be found.

As Susan approached him, and was no more than half meter away from Chris, the eyes of the two locked for a few seconds; almost awkwardly, as it seemed to the marshal. For a moment, Markson felt his issues just simply... wash away: the bright, green glow of Margolyes' eyes repeatedly and perpetually amazed him, throwing him into an increased heartbeat and body temperature every single time something like this occurred; Barnes would have - personally - interpreted this as a type of passion. He never knew how unrealistically close he was to the actual truth.

A moment later, Susan spoke again, knocking him back to reality.

\- Chris - she started cautiously - What happened with your eyes? - Margolyes asked the question, then crossed her arms, as she could see that Markson, although involuntarily, but still hesitated. To signal him to hurry up with an answer, the flight attendant raised an eyebrow.

\- I... I... - stuttered Markson, then, instead of carrying on with his sentence, he gulped down the rest of the water the bottle contained. After he could no longer continue stalling with this action, he tried to speak his way out of the situation; for what reason he was doing this, he did not know - I should really get back to my seat now - he suddenly felt an urge to cough again, but, this time, he managed to overcome it. Needless to say, Margolyes still had her doubts, which Markson responded to by maintaining his flow of persuasive and convincing reasons - After all, I am the only air marshal on the plane, my duty is to watch over the place, I...

\- Cut the gibberish, Chris! - Susan's tone escalated to a more imperative and violent level, halting Barnes in his tracks, who already started to slowly inch to the direction of the tourist-class - Tell me what is wrong with you, and tell me now! - those calming green eyes now flashed dangerously at Markson; he never remembered seeing Margolyes in such a mood.

\- Calm down Susan, I... - he made something between a laugh and a sigh - We are just having a horrible flight tonight, I just needed to calm down for a moment in an isolated place...

\- Also, you needed to throw up in an isolated place, and the lavatory was the obvious pick - interrupted Margolyes, still with eyes looking intimidatingly at Barnes.

\- These turbulences messed up my stomach, I could not really help it now, could I? - Chris' tone became minimally stressed, but he could keep the worst of it in for long enough.

\- Did the winds also caused a nosebleed? That must be some very new phenomenon, as I did not hear anything about it yet! - Markson knew that when Susan went onto a sarcastic field, things were beginning to head south.

\- A blood vessel was burst due to the pressure difference, it happens from time to time with everyone... - but both sides could feel that the end of this sentence was awfully powerless, which gave Margolyes a simple, almost effortless chance for a reply.

\- Plus, apparently, either the turbulence or the pressure change causes the discolouration of both pupils since... now? - she asked, and this caused Chris difficulties to answer.

\- I do not know, maybe, uh... - he was looking for the right scientific expression he picked up years ago at the university - Maybe it is an advanced case of heterochromia, who knows? - but right after saying this, Barnes realised that he had made a grave mistake in the conversation: „Wait, Susan also studied at university!", he thought, and could feel the inevitable coming to him.

\- Oh, yes, sorry, I forgot that the process of heterochromia occurs between one to five minutes! Only if I had went to university to study more! - she said in a serious voice, but then changed her tone, again - But wait; I did! What a surprise that I know that what you are saying is total bullshit! - Susan could see on Markson's face that a type of anger, which only came around in the heat of a conversation, was building up.

\- There have been recent cases of specific individuals, who went through the effects of heterochromia in just a few minutes! - this was, of course, a lie, only attempting to end the conversation or, at least, change the topic - Maybe this happened to me! - Chris' voice started to tremble, but not of alarm or fright, but of building stress and the lack of concealment and certainty in his bluff.

\- Ah, recent cases! - she almost shouted; the only way one could force Susan to lose her temper was to keep arguing with her; Markson was going along with that just fine, gradually dragging the attendant closer and closer to the edge - Are you telling me that science decided to change its rules? Is that right? Chris? - she bent her head slightly to the right in a questioning fashion.

This was the point where Barnes gave it up; he was fighting a verbal battle he could not win, let alone that he would be decimated if this became a war; he clapped his hands together once, raised his arms - as to show his surrender - then dropped them to the side. He sighed deeply while he looked down on the carpet of the aircraft. When he looked up, he did it with a half-angry, and half-bitter gaze. With his... „new", blue eyes, Markson's face was quite a sight to behold for someone who had not seen him before. After doing a hard swallow, Chris started to talk.

\- Okay, do you know what? - he began prudently, and, to his own surprise, took out his phone, just to buy himself some time to think. No new messages arrived; not surprising at all, the weather was still on its peak, and the storm was raging. Nothing changed in the past fifteen minutes; nothing, but Chris' eyes - Here is the truth, Susan - his speech was barely audible, he almost squeezed the words out - I have no actual idea about what is going on right now, and yes - he heavily emphasised the last word - I am afraid; my partner might be dead, I am the only marshal on this plane, not to mention that I am not in a correct shape, and on continuation of that thought, some... some kind of instant heterochromic disease or... or an advanced carcinoma, I do not care! - Barnes let out a painful, almost hysterical moan as he hit the table with his fist, then buried his face in his left hand; he was not crying, nor was he in pain, but all these... events with his body that just went down? He was still in a bit of a shock - I still need time with Anna - I... I think I will just sit back down - he said afterwards - I need time to calm down and to... to think - he moved his palm, and looked at Susan - I trust that this is alright with you? - Markson's voice was weak and frightened, his body posture did suggested a fragile state, moreover, his body started to quiver again...

For the time Chris knew Susan for, she never looked so sympathetic as she did now; he was not sure, but Barnes could have sworn that compassion sat deep in Margolyes' eyes.

\- Anything you need - she said in the most supportive way probably possible, picked up a water bottle, then handed it over to Markson - Just in case you... - she paused, although unnecessarily; both knew what she was going to say. Needless to mention, she still managed to finish the sentence - You know why. Uh... - hesitation followed for a moment - We have some sedatives and other medications in the front of the plane, if you would want to take any.

\- Yeah - sighed Chris, and started to walk towards the closed curtains, where he would enter the aisle, and head back to his seat - Thanks - he pulled the curtains open, and turned back, halfway behind his shoulder - For everything.

While proceeding through the tourist-class, Markson did checked around and observed some people carefully, despite the way he was feeling about his current health. Nothing different from the boarding gate; regular people, travelling to their regular destination, maybe a business-trip, maybe vacation, who knows?

The plane was in the air for quite a while now, the attendants started to walk through the aisle with different foods and drinks that could be bought for a pretty pricey value; one of these „cars" was heading straight towards Chris, so he decided to be polite, and got out of the way, although in a minimally awkward manner: he tightly pressed against one of the seats with his back. The person who occupied the place commented with an annoyed sigh, but Markson found it more easier and sensible to ignore the man than to confront him.

A surprising amount of people were using there phones or tablets; „I guess it is just today's technology. After all, I cannot complain, I also use my phone in my... well, work"

When Barnes reached his seat in the first-class, a voice greeted him - yet he was not sure which way he should react on it; negatively, or positively.

\- Are you feeling better now? - it was Tate, who, sadly, did not seemed to have changed his personality in the past minutes, let alone that he was just _still_ here; definitely a negative for Markson, this was unquestionable - Flight does effects some people in horrendous ways, you are probably no... - while saying the previous sentence, he looked up, checking on the other member of the conversation; while doing so, his facial expression changed in a similar manner Margolyes' has in the back of the aircraft. His eyes opened wide, his mouth almost dropped open - Mr. Montague, what happened to...

\- My eyes? - interrupted the marshal while he was in the middle of sitting down; Tate's gaze followed him constantly, as he did spotted the irregularity of the irises. Markson acted like he did noticed what Boyd was doing, although, in reality, it did bothered him, but he would not give the man the pleasure and satisfaction of a remark; instead, Barnes just sat down, and took out his book from the bag that he put on his seat, right before he left for the lavatory - Do you want to know my honest answer? - started Markson in a stringent tone, ensuring that Tate will understand the point that he was trying to make - I do not know what happened, or what is happening to me - he lowered the bag, and slowly placed it down on the floor - And, albeit I know that you would gladly go into a discussion or debate about it, that is not going to happen! - Chris made a glance towards Boyd, and, after seeing no angry or dangerous response, fully turned his head to the right - Now, for the rest of this flight, I want total silence, no pointless questions, no comments, nothing. Are we understood?

First, Tate looked like he was going to say something that would have violated the statement Markson just gave, however - totally in contrast with his personality - the man stayed quiet, looked downwards with a half-open mouth - as if he was about to say something - then, instead of any taken actions, just exhaled strongly.

\- Yes, Mr. Montague - said Boyd not so long after - It is clear that you are in the need of... silence, and I understand that - Markson could not believe his ears; was this guy really doing what he was doing? If Chris' premonition was correct, the man, the one that he hated from the first moment, even though that was only 30 minutes ago, was about to apologise - I am sorry for my past behaviour, I...

\- I told you previously, forget about it - Markson cut him of before he could get more deeply into his apologetic monologue; it was one of the last things he needed right now, although the thought of listening to Boyd's apology did not seemed as painful as Chris has originally thought.

\- No, I am being, fully, absolutely serious right now; I was never a people's person, and... - Barnes interrupted him; as he said beforehand, he was uninterested in a further conversation, and Boyd was not helping.

\- Come on, Tate! Please, save me the trouble of going through this again... - Barnes, although he just said quite the opposite, was about to explain to his seat-neighbour why he needed silence and tranquility, but then...

Then he heard a thick West-American accent, talking about something that is not only a forbidden topic on an airplane, but, if the content would have been meant seriously, the conversation could have been classed as a violation against the federal laws, or as a threat against it.

Markson had no idea how he overheard this, but, somehow he did; it was as if his hearing instantaneously became perfect, sharp, and just... strangely accurate.

\- Did you go over the plan with Hank? - when Chris first heard the voice, he thought that he only overheard someone either in front or behind him. Seconds later dawned the realisation upon him that wherever this came from, it was a problem they were facing.

\- _Ja_ \- the other speaker was definitely German, deducting from the accent, and the dialect - We take the guns out, get everyone in their seat, forced if needed - this was bad, real bad! If some people had weapons on this plane... It was close to the unthinkable - After that, we find and secure the package.

\- Then what? - the West-American was talking again; Barnes listened very carefully now, and could feel his sidearm pressing against his back.

\- Get the code for the cockpit from one of the attendants, kill some if needed - Chris' eyes opened wide at this point; what if Susan happens to be in the way? - Then force the pilots to descend to 3000 feet. Next, we jump - finished of the German voice.

Markson shook his head, as to clear it out and get himself straight; „I need to warn the captain!", he thought for a moment, but realised that - apparently - it was too late now.

Afterwards, something happened that he not just did not expect, but - for a split of a second - felt slightly frightened; nevertheless, this wore off in no time, then Markson proceeded with what he deemed appropiate in the current situation; and indeed, his action was what he should have done: he stood up, and walked towards the source of the screams.

Now about those cries: they did not started at the first shout, only after a shot sounded; then, everyone started screaming and crying out for help, mercy, or just random words, induced by the panic spreading on-board.

\- Everybody get down! - another round was fired off, causing another flow of shouts; the person who ordered the passengers was a third man, bearing a thick French accent - Stay down, and you will not get hurt! We are not here to kill you, but we will not hold ourselves back if you force our hands! - around the same time he finished, three or four other voices, not yet heard by Chris, started to do and say the same, but Markson did not bothered to listen to this anymore.

He dropped the book on his seat, stood up, then took out his gun; to his surprise, someone to his left started shouting.

\- Ah, God, are you one of them? - Tate cried out annoyingly loudly, and raised his hands in front of himself, as if those could protect him from any harm - Please do not kill me!

\- Boyd, Boyd! - hissed Chris in a low voice - I am an air marshal - he raised his badge to prove this - Now, I need everyone here to stay down, can you tell that to all passengers here?

\- I... I am not sure if... if I can... - stuttered Tate, not fully concentrating on what has been just said.

\- Boyd, I need you to concentrate! - said Markson sharply, picked his earpiece up from his bag and put it in his ear; then pulled the slide of his pistol, chambering a round - Do what I told you, and stay down! - he put the sidearm back to its original position, hidden under his jacket.

\- Any control tower or aircraft in vicinity, this is Flight-BR82, we have a distress call! - Markson heard O'Neill on his communication channel - Shots were fired on board, the presence of a bomb is likely; we are commencing the bomb-protocol and will attempt to return to the nearest military airfield. Once there, we will try to land. I say again, any planes in the vicinity... - the talking suddenly turned into static, giving Barnes another good reason for intervention; if it was these hijackers blocking the frequency, they must have had some high-tech equipment.

With a cautious movement, Barnes started to walk casually towards the tourist-class; when he entered through the curtains, he could see five or six men waving pistols around, hitting passengers, forcing them to sit down. At the sound of the curtains being drawn, one of the men turned towards the noise - Chris - and raised his gun.

\- Hey buddy, wandering around, are ya'? - it was the West-American, who was in the middle of beating an attendant to obtain answers, but, when he spotted Markson, he immediately turned to the new „threat" - Right, I will tell you only once: go back to your place and stay calm. 'Else you gonna be in a hella' trouble!

\- Please - acted Markson in the scared civilian-style - Please, my wife sits at the back, I... if I die, I want to sit next to her! - he waited for a reaction, but the man just kept holding his gun firmly.

\- Stay in your seat, or you will not even have the chance for saying farewell! - the man kept a pause - I will shot you! Now start walking! - Chris remained stationary - I said now! - shouted the West-American, and shot into one of the seats.

\- Sir, please! - kept moving Barnes, gently, as to not raise suspicion; he had only one chance at this.

\- Look, buddy, I am going to count to three; if you are still here at that time, you are going to be shot, understood? - the man's face was almost emotionless; these guys were not some petty robbers or terrorists. These men were professionals - One.

The West-American checked if there was a bullet in the chamber, and kept Markson's head in his sights. Just a few more centimeters, and Chris should be just in the right position.

\- Two - carried on the hijacker, and strengthened his grip on the weapon - Time to make a choice, man!

\- Please, I just want to sit with my wife! - Barnes gave the final blow of the lie; everything was ready for his plan now.

\- Sorry, you cannot say „goodbye" to your wife! Thr... - the West-American attempted to pronounce the words, but could not; with his left hand, Markson grabbed the man's right arm, which got the pistol out from his face. Lucky to him, the food and drink stand was right next to them, and, when the West-American's hand hit the metal edge, he was forced by the impact to drop the weapon; afterwards, with his own right hand, he took the P228 out, put it directly to the man's stomach, then pulled the trigger; twice, to be perfectly exact.

With a surprise on his now dying face, the West-American did not resist, he was paralysed by the speed of the events (or this could have been caused by a bullet that might have separated his spine, we may never know).

Using this time-window, Chris gripped onto his right shoulder, spinned him around, clinging his arm around the man's neck in the same time, using him as a human shield. After he was sure that the now either dead or dying West-American's body fully covered his own, Chris aimed at the head of another hijacker.

When Markson pulled the trigger, five heads turned toward him - not counting the civilians - although one's skull was already penetrated by the bullet fired seconds ago.

\- _Batard_! - shouted one of them; he was definitely French, judging from the language he just used.

There were now three different nationalities in this hijacker team. What was this, some multi-national terrorist operation? „That cannot be!", thought Barnes, „The chances are equal to nothing!".

While thinking of this, three or four shots were fired upon him, which - although only hit the dead body - did gave him a bit of a push.

„Damn!", Chris released the corpse, which - if he was not for all this time - definitely deceased by now; seeing the counter with some magazines and pamphlets on as a potential cover, Markson jumped behind it, and checked his pistol's magazine - a common fetish of his.

„One in chamber, ten in the mag", he concluded, and placed the clip back into its place. „Okay, Chris!", he readied himself for the inevitable combat and shooting, „Pick them off, one by one. Remember, shoot to stop; first the chest, then the head. If your aim is perfect, you will only need eight rounds!".

\- Müller, Keshnyev! Flank him! - shouted the French, then a pair of footsteps running up towards Markson's position were heard.

Quickly deciding on the action, Chris leaned over the counter, and aimed down the sights of the sidearm; whilst he did this, time appeared to have slowed down: Barnes could see all the civilians, covering their heads, faces or other body parts in defence, living through this nightmare sky high; the two men who were sent to kill him carried H&amp;K USPs, compact but pretty advanced pistols. Special forces used this kind of arsenal, not hijackers!

Markson picked out the man on the left, who was about to take his own shot; before that happened though, Barnes pulled the trigger, firing a bullet through the terrorist's left lung.

\- Ah! - prior to the second pull of the trigger Chris would have done, the man fell over from the impact - _Seize_! - he swore while he attempted to stand up.

In the meantime, Markson managed to take a shot at the other hijacker, penetrating his chest, then, moments after, his skull: he collapsed on the ground, motionless and dead.

„Three left", counted the marshal while the German tried to rise from his wounded state to continue with his plan of murder.

Before he could do so, Barnes - in a slow and relaxed manner - pinpointed a lethal spot on the man's head with the foresight, then sent him after his late associate.

„Two remaining", he crossed off another number from his metaphorical and imaginary list.

\- Chris! - he heard a shout, seemingly from the other end of the aircraft; originally, Markson could not determine to whom the voice belonged to, but, seconds later, he realised: it came from Susan, held by the neck by one of the hijackers.

\- Come on now, _connard_! - it was the French man, but he held a sub-machinegun, more specifically a H&amp;K MP5, a lethal weapon if used correctly - You do not want the pretty lady to die, _oui_? - while talking, he put the weapon's barrel to Margolyes' head, and switched off the safety catch - Drop that gun! - he pushed the muzzle closer to the woman's temple, which she responded to by letting a painful cry out.

Markson just simply raised his pistol, and waited for the right moment; all hostage situations had the downside, especially when someone would take a civilian and use him or her as a human shield: however hard someone tried, they could not get their head into cover, thus, the most exposed body part was also the one that required only one shot.

\- You think you are smart, huh? - grimaced the French man, as he expected obedience in such circumstances; now, he put his finger from the trigger-guard on the trigger - Why not negotiate, a... - Barnes' P228 interrupted his sentence; actually, more than interrupted: ended it forever. The hijacker was hit exactly between his eyes, which caused his head to tilt backwards in a violent manner; his mouth fell open, the grasp he had on the weapon's grip lightened, and, seconds later, the man dropped dead, now just a lifeless body.

As of Margolyes; she was in no better state than Markson before he ran to the lavatory prior to the attack. After she was released by her now deceased captor, Susan began to shakily stagger in the direction of Chris. When she finally approached him, the flight attendant fell into the marshal's arms, what he was barely able to withstand, as Margolyes let go of her body totally.

Markson could feel her trembling, and he could have swore that she started to sob strongly.

\- Susan, calm down - asked Barnes almost pleadingly - Please, I need you to calm down! - he said a bit more strongly, but remained careful with his voice's tone.

\- Okay - she said in the midsts of her crying - Okay.

\- Could you keep a low profile with the others in the first-class? - requested Chris, while he held Susan away with his two hands on her shoulders, not to push her aside, but for to look into her eyes.

\- I... - before she could carry on with what she wanted to say, a shot sounded, although not clear where from.

For a moment, the marshal believed that the bullet striked him, and the reason that he did not feel pain for was caused by the sudden adrenaline rush; he looked down on his chest to check for a wound, but found nothing, not even by going over the leather jacket with his right hand, which he took of Margolyes' shoulder for the time being.

Markson glanced back up, and was about to tell the attendant to hurry to the first-class, but the woman's eyes seemed unnaturally glassy...

\- Susan? - he asked softly, but received no response - Susan! - this time, Chris gave her a bit of a shake.

This caused Margolyes' head to tilt forward, which revealed a hole, that had a red liquid - blood - pouring out from the back of her skull alarmingly fast. This was what the fired bullet lead to; another death. Now that Chris knew where the projectile hit, he wished that he should not have seen it.

\- No - he shook his own head in disbelief - No! - Markson shouted out in his pain and anger.

„That son of a...", he thought while he looked up to scan around for the shooter, whom he detected a moment before he shot again. The round passed Barnes' right ear by centimeters; it was close enough to cause his adrenaline level to spike up again and his ear to ring, but it was nowhere near to kill him.

With a swift movement - and emotional difficulty - Chris released Susan's dead body, and - while the corpse dropped - he took aim with his pistol, then shot.

The last hijacker cried out in painful agony as his left kneecap shattered into pieces, forcing him to unwittingly put pressure on the injured body part; he did this with his right hand, which he held his USP in.

Taking his precious time - two to three seconds - Markson steadied him aim by taking a deep breath, and picked his next target zone while closing one eye, just to give his shot a more likely chance to hit.

\- Ahh, _helvete_! - shouted the hijacker - who now proved to be Swedish - in suffering: the bullet tore his right forefinger clean off, hindering him from using his gun efficiently, or just even using it in the first place.

While the Swedish was attempting to hold pressure on his bleeding wounds, Barnes proceeded towards the hijacker; while keeping a steady pace - as he knew that he had at least ten seconds before the man would come to his senses again - Markson threw his weapon up, then caught it by the barrel. When he reached the terrorist, he already had his arm raised, ready to strike down, which he did moments later.

The Swedish fell on the floor, not even attempting to keep his balance or to stand up; he just simply lay there, accepting that he had lost the battle.

Chris held the P228 now that it pointed barrel front again, easily capable of blowing the final hijacker's brain out from its respective place.

\- Are you going to kill me? - smiled the man, which was a strange sight, taking that blood was leaking from both his forehead and nose. Not long after,he started to laugh, which was even more disturbing, - You do not have the...

Barnes punched his face so hard that not only the man passed out, but the marshal needed to shake the pain off from his now bloody hand. The marshal was holding himself back with unbelievable restraint; yes, this was the man that killed Margolyes, but if they could question him, it could be found out who these men were, what they wanted, and why they wanted it.

\- Is everyone alright? - he shouted to the passengers to check if at least they were still alive. Seconds later, a collective "yes" came from all sides of the cabin, relieving Chris from one problem.

Markson rose, then glanced around the business-class, looking at all the corpses that were killed in the last five or ten minutes: the West-American, the German, the French, the Russian, and one that had an unidentified nationality, but Chris recognised him: it was the "sweatpants guy". Apparently, Barnes was right: there was - _was_ \- something wrong with this individual. Now, with nothing on his face other than blood, he laid an awkward pose on the floor, no expressions, no feelings; just wide open eyes, and a bleeding bullet-wound. Something similar happened to Margolyes.

She lay motionless, a massive puddle of blood appeared in the last minutes around her head, shouting the obvious fact at Markson: she is dead, and he cannot bring her back.

He checked his watch: 22:32, time flew fast in the heat of the situation. Still, they will not land stateside now, the pilots will fly the plane back to either Heathrow (as the hijacker problem was solved now), or land on a military airbase. "I should check through the baggage for explosives; who knows, there still could be a bomb on this plane!".

In all of a sudden, Markson felt something peculiar: _déjà vu_, as he had a nauseous feeling again. But this was different, way worse than the one he had in the lavatory: this was generated by the massive amount of stress he just went through, not by some random turbulence in the air.

\- Any aircrafts or towers in the vicinity, the situation seems to be resolved, bomb-protocol is still active - although the marshal first jumped a bit, he was still glad to hear O'Neill voice through the earset - We will try to land at the nearest military...

All the lights went out, and Markson could feel as his feet lifting off the floor, and a moment later his whole body crashed into the ceiling, then, as the craft _seemed_ to have returned to its normal flying angle, Chris was dropped back down, the ground punching all the air out from his lungs.

Gasping for breath while coughing - which was not overwhelmingly pleasant - Barnes slowly got up on his feet, still in the dark. The civilians were screaming all around him, putting his mind in a more stressful environment than the shooting and fighting did.

\- Anyone nearby, this is Flight-BR82! - this was Watts talking now, what happened to O'Neill was unknown by the marshal - We have been hit by a lightning-bolt, our whole system is down, and we cannot get it back up! - a cough that sounded painful and not so reassuring about the first officer's health could be heard on the frequency - The captain is dead! We are going down, Mayday, Mayday, Mayday, we have an emergency! I repeat, we are...

Another tremor shook the plane as it once again went into stalling, and soon, Markson could not keep his legs on the ground anymore.

As he smashed against the ceiling one more time, the lights started flickering, randomly turning on and off, illuminating the business-class for a few seconds, then descending into full darkness again.

While one of these intervals happened and the lamps switched on, someone's suitcase - probably made out of something incredibly hard - hit Chris right on his head, giving him a massive headache, but, also, a sense of fear, as he could feel his consciousness slipping away treacherously.

The screaming now appeared to have stopped, but soon, Markson needed to realise that it was just his hearing blocking down, due to his weakening grasp on reality. The only sound heard by him was his own, laboured breathing, and his insanely rapid heartbeat.

Still gripping hard on the P228, Barnes' strength started to reach its final limits and reserves; he tried as hard and desperate as he could, but, gradually, his mind started to lazily give up; and the more altitude Flight-BR82 was losing, the more weaker Chris got, and the more closer he was to falling unconscious.

In an uttermost determined attempt, Markson tried to hold onto the thought of Anna, the thought that mattered the most to him on the world. If he was to die now, he will go out while thinking about her daughter; not other way he could pass away in peace.

Before he blacked out though, a feeling came through him, as if he was ripped out from the plane; the sense of falling was gone, no sound was heard. Now, Barnes could feel that he was lying on the ground, but it was still pitch black, and he was too weak to move a muscle, not to mention the unbearable pain burning through every single one of his body. His head swam with many different thoughts; was he dead? How was he thinking this now if he was? That would conclude that the plane did not crash. But how did it not crash? If it did plummeted to the ground, but Markson survived, why was he lying on the ground and not in the wreck? He could not possibly have fallen out from the aircraft, could he?

Then, inevitably, either from the exhaustion or from the shock and the events, all of his power dissolved, and he fell into the comforting and calm darkness of the unconscious mind.


	5. Of Infirmaries and Feathers

**Took me long enough? Yes, I would agree to that, but I went through some real bad illness not so long ago, leaving time for writing to turn into gaps not used for anything productive. But, nevertheless, I am here now, posting a new chapter, experimenting with some new things, which might be rough around the edges now, but they will sharpen enough in time.**

**By the way, there is a bit of an artwork I did for this story (I know this is only a FanFiction, but I do not see why I could not expand its universe even more The works themselves have a major-to-medium connection to the story and how it will carry on); they will serve as "banners" or "title-scenes" for each periods of the whole story, which, in total, should end up as six parts, all connecting together and serving as a long storyline. These can be found at DeviantArt, look for the account "DKonrad". I will post all the links in my profile on this site.**

**I also want to thank for all the people who gave me support through reviews, favorites, or follows; your help is greatly appreciated, and you probably lengthened the lifetime of this piece by a considerable amount!**

_**I do not own the Guardians of Ga'Hoole series.  
****I take Christopher Markson, Boyd Tate, Irvis, and Matthias as my own characters and creations.  
The Federal Air Marshal Service and the Transportation Security Administration are not my creations.  
****SIG Sauer is merely just mentioned for the sake of the story, not advertised or promoted.**_

_Of Infirmaries and Feathers_

_Unknown Location_

_Unknown Time_

_Christopher Barnes Markson, Federal Air Marshal Service, TSA_

_Sometimes, when we are halfway asleep, but still not fully unconscious to dream, our brain starts to work in a peculiar way; you can feel that your thoughts are speeding up, you think faster, almost at the rate which occurs in the rapid eye movement state - that is when you start dreaming._

_Another good example for this is when you suddenly wake up; at those points, your mind is between its deep state and reality, working on both sides, creating thoughts that come from the dream you might have just had. When you look back at those half-awake and half-asleep ideas of your brain, you might find that they appear strange, crazy, or funny._

_In 99% of our cases, this is perfectly normal, there is nothing to worry about. Although, if you still do not feel confident enough, you can contact one of our medical facilities in your area, and you can participate in a free medical-checkup program. We at DreamCare think about you as an important patient, and will do anything to help you in any scenarios..._

\- Oh, please, not again, Chris! - Susan came into the kitchen; she was wearing her morning dress, the same one she was clothed in on their honeymoon - I shared my opinion on that book, and you know exactly well what I think about it! - she put her hands on her waist, and shook her head playfully.

\- Yeah - agreed Markson - But that does not means that I cannot read it! - he laughed, closed the book, then put it down on the coffee table. After, he lifted his cup, and drank the tea left in it - Anyhow, you know I only read it to laugh at it - he told the honest truth - You know that!

Margolyes tilted her head sideways and smiled again - What do you want for breakfast? - she asked while she walked over to the oven, and placed a pan on the top of the cooking equipment - Eggs? Toast? Maybe some water for old times' sake? - she chuckled.

\- I think you already decided about the food yourself! - stated Barnes as he saw her breaking an egg on the side of the sink; indeed, he was right. When Susan decided that she makes a specific meal, that is what she will make.

Markson checked his watch; „Hm", he exclaimed in thought, „Déjà vu. When was the last time I had that? God, it was so long ago, I cannot even remember why I had it!". The electronic timepiece on his wrist showed 32:64.

For a moment, Chris took this naturally, but then it actually reached his mind. „Wait, what?", he looked at the watch again. The same number was shown by the dial; to this, he frowned.

\- Honey? - he said in a questioning way. This could only been some major factory error.

\- Hm? - she glanced up for a moment from her cooking - What is it?

\- Could you tell me the time? - requested Barnes while he knocked on the mechanism's glass cover. It did not seem to do anything on that, not reseting, not changing; it just kept going on in its abnormal way of counting the time.

\- You have a watch, do not you? - she acted her seriousness very well, but her smile gave everything away. After a short while, she actually answered the question - It is sixty-four minutes past thirty-two, why?

\- Nothing, nothing - Markson got carried off a bit; so it was not him imagining things, neither the electronics malfunctioning (the previous two words sounded strange to him anyway). So... after all...

„The watch is not broken!", he thought as he realised that he made a mistake, „What was I thinking of? Hah!"; although, it felt like that some kind of idea was pushed into the back of his brain, making it linger around in some half-forgotten corner.

\- Well then! - Barnes made a single clap, then rubbed his hands together - If I may change the topic... - started Chris cautiously and slow-paced.

\- You may do, mister! - Margolyes used a fork and a knife to put the now fried eggs on a ceramic plate - But remember to eat your breakfast, or else I will not let you to go to work!

„Hm, work", he wondered, „What do I work as again?". Why was he forgetting vital information now? What changed since the past 8 years of their marriage that induced this now? „I retired from the TSA months ago; Susan needed me to help out with Rachel", he carried on with the thought-trail, „Of course, the publishing office, where else!".

\- Since we are running a bit late - Margolyes suddenly began - Who is going to pick up Rachel from the school?

„We are there again, are not we?", laughed and thought Chris in the same time - I believe it is your turn, honey! - he bluffed, as he felt too light-headed to drive now. Plus, he was not sure where he put the keys the previous time he drove the car...

\- My turn? - gasped Susan, which was obviously made in a comical style. She put the food down in front of the sitting Markson - Why not negotiate?

Following this one sentence, Barnes could feel something non-physical, but still very much tough strike into his head, knocking him off his feet. But... but he was not standing up in the first place! What was going on? Turmoil washed over him as he was disoriented by this unknown force or entity.

It came to him then; the whole situation felt like a paradox that was mixed and merged in a thousand different places. Who in the world was Rachel? When did he marry Susan? And...

„She died aboard the plane that night!", he thought as the words of the French hijacker came back to him, the exact same way Margolyes just spoke it. „What the hell is going on?".

At that point of time, another voice sounded - or spoke - out of the thin air, frighteningly resembling Markson's own voice; „You know that you are not where you think you are, do you?".

\- Chris? - Susan looked shocked, a dark shadow fell on her face; Barnes cocked his head up, half-confused about... more or less everything that surrounded him - What is wrong? You look like you saw a ghost!

Markson observer her carefully - Yeah - he acclaimed - That is exactly what I just saw - the marshal kept staring at her wife, who should not have been here to begin with: she was dead, definitely dead! What is happening here?

\- Why? What do you mean? - Margolyes managed to stay oddly calm - Chris, could you explain your problem? - although, a few minutes ago, the sun was brightly shining outside, now it appeared that a massive number of dark, storm clouds began to manifest in the exterior world.

„Ask her what happened on the flight!", ordered the identical-to-him voice, „You know that this is not the reality, do not you?".

\- Tell me what happened on the flight that evening! - commanded Markson, but added more detail to his previous sentence, as to complete it - What happened on Flight BR82?

Margolyes was aghast by this kind of behaviour; she - or whatever this doppelganger was - pulled a knife out from one of the draws. For a moment, Barnes thought that something awful was about to happen, but later realised that it was only an apple that was to be cut in two or more pieces.

\- Chris, what do you...! - the visible sight was highly peculiar; while displaying anger, she also made actions that would have been considered greatly relaxed by any outsider - Why, you finished those murderers off, then... - Susan could not find the specific word - Then, the aircraft landed successfully on a military airport, and...

\- No! - intercepted Markson - We did not; our plane crashed, the storm destroyed its electronics! - the grim realisation suddenly materialized in his head - We all died!

Silence fell on the room, then the faraway voice started to speak again:

„Chris, you need to wake up!". To this, Barnes gazed around the constantly shapeshifting kitchen, which now had four or five bottles of water floating in the air; the sink liquified, slowly dripping and streaming down the carpet that was made from a material that strangely resembled grass.

\- How am I supposed to do that? - he communicated towards the voice while Margolyes walked around the counter, now definitely wielding the kitchen knife as a weapon; she raised it above her waist, ready to stab anyone who dared to get close enough.

\- Chris - whispered Susan in a sinister way, while her nose slowly started to leek blood - There is someone in the house! - she slowly lifted her index finger to her mouth, the universal signal for silence - Should I call the police?

„There is only one way to wake up", carried on the voice, „But it is not pleasurable by any circumstances, believe me!".

From the ceiling, a pistol materialised, then, gently, levitated downwards, almost begging for Barnes' attention and usage. When it was low enough, Markson reached for it, unintentionally; upon feeling this controlled urge, he immediately put his arm down, but the weapon forced its way into Chris' hand.

\- No, not this! - whatever this entity was, Barnes could not resist its power of control - I cannot do this! Not even like this! - the „thing" forced him to switch the safety off (on a trivial note, the sidearm seemed to be constantly in the process of changing shapes and types, growing and shrinking from second to second).

„You either do this, or you will never wake up!", concluded the incorporeal being, „Suit yourself, but taking that I am your sub-conscious, it does matters to me as well!".

Chris just understood what was going on: if he was correct, this was all just a... coma-dream, or some other unconscious state. He knew that, sometimes, people could not get out from these circumstances for weeks or months; years in extreme cases!

Meanwhile, the entity kept controlling Markson's right arm, the one that wielded the weapon; although, now that the being turned out to be his own self - just deep down in his mind - these „forced" motions appeared more intentional.

Margolyes still stood lifeless, the kitchen knife in her hands, stiffly held in an almost perfect 90 degrees angle; as Chris looked at her - while aiming down the sights of his weapon - she reciprocated the gaze, but her eyes were empty and dead: no sign of consciousness or the woman Markson used to know.

\- I am sorry - he pulled the trigger, and an invisible bullet crashed into her chest; yet, she still just stood there, as if the projectile just simply passed through her. Just to make sure that the doppelganger was... whatever it was that could have happened to this piece of sub-conscious imagination when shot, Chris fired the pistol again, puncturing other holes in the fake-Margolyes.

Simultaneously with all the bullet impacts, the kitchen, now almost pitch dark, started to fall apart, tiles crumbling away one by one, the staircase being torn out from its place by some non-existent tornado.

Markson scanned around in a panicking way, constantly looking for a safe position that was not disintegrating away. Then, all at once, everything froze in one place, even the small particles of the room that were being blown away by the wind - or whatever force it actually was.

Susan was the only other moving individual in the kitchen; not that she seemed more alive now than she did beforehand.

She released the knife from her right hand, which lazily started to descend towards the floor, almost as if there was no gravity in the room; when the object came in contact with the wooden surface, it disintegrated into millions of pieces of dust, being flown away be the light breeze that invaded the room.

After ten seconds, the fake-Margolyes' left hand - in lack of a better word - was detached from its natural position, and was dropped on the ground; there, a sight identical to the phenomenon that happened to the knife occured with Susan's disjointed hand: as it hit the floor, it came apart to dust like a statue made of smooth sand.

Similar breaks started to occur around all of her body; her right arm gave away, her whole left leg collapsed into itself.

\- Stop it! - shouted out Markson as he could not look away; it did not mattered how hard he tried to force himself, his gaze was settled upon this... this event - I did it! I am supposed to wake up, that is what you told me! - tears rolled down his face as both a massive headache and an emotional pain began to consume him.

„Sutider aiv tse cilli", said his own sub-conscious, which now seemed like him thinking, „Remember that!".

With that said, everything went black; no more disintegrating rooms, no morbid or horroristic pictures of Susan dying; just the calm, peaceful, and endless darkness again.

But as the light came back, Margolyes' bloody corpse was hanging mid-air, her bruised eyes settled upon Markson.

Chris raised his pistol again - surprisingly enough, he still held the forever-changing weapon - and shot into those menacing eyes, wiping them away from this nightmare.

As the echo of the firing slowly died away, the blackness settled upon Barnes' sub-conscious eyes, finally ending this unbearable terror...

\- No! - cried out Markson as he finally awoke from his coma-like state. His own voice sounded strange and unusual to him, but, currently, he could not care less about this; the gunshot still rang loudly in his ears, constantly causing a tremor in his half-conscious head - Damn it! - he shouted into the... sand?

Apparently, he was lying on some type of beach or shore - the crashing waves and the wind proved this incontrovertible; although it was not his vision that finalised this conclusion, as for his eyes, it was total darkness. After a second did Markson realise that the reason of this incapability was that his eyelids were shut, and - however hard he tried to force them - did not wanted to open up.

At least he was able to feel the ground around him, covered with nice-grained sand, that he could feel on his... „Wait a minute, are not I am supposed to feel the sand?", he thought in a funny way. As surprising it appeared to him, he could not physically sense the ground, but could feel himself lying down on it.

„Odd", he began again „Must be the afterblow of this crash... Oh, shit, the crash!". He tried to force himself up from the ground, but his arms did not wanted to respond. When trying to use his legs, the same was the result. On the second try, the outcome was more encouraging, but his hands still slipped on the sand, and Barnes fell face-first into the wet ground.

It was probably more better this way; if he overworked his body now, Chris would just lose consciousness again, which he obviously did not desired. Temporary weakness, he will get his strength back in a few minutes; that was how it worked.

After all, he just survived a... „Whoa, wait a second!", he stopped his own self in thought, „Did I survive? How?"; attempting to make some logical connections, he hoped that he could manage in the imaginary recreation of the events.

First, it was the hijacking; Markson successfully solved that situation, there was no problem over there, he could perfectly remember it; next, the electricity died, and the plane started to go down; after that...

After that, he was here, waking up on this sandy beach, or whatever this damn place was; he was soaked, cold, and wet; not to mention the continual confusion that kept gnawing on him.

The plane crashed: unless he flew out from the craft mid-air, there was no possible way he could have ended up here. Even then, the fall would have broke his bones apart, which would have crashed most of his organs, instantly killing him.

Another theory Chris had was of an impossibility again: what if he was still in the plane, just the angle it crashed in filled it with sand? Everyone could have survived, including him! But this was quickly dismissed by his brain, due to the only heard sounds: in a crashed aircraft, there must have been some spilled fuel burning, not to mention that the would-be audible clue of broken lamps and other equipments - as the electric sparks bounced of the halved wires or cables - were nowhere to be heard.

Although what if he... what if...

No more logical ideas could come to his mind, but he could feel his eyelids again; Barnes was able to slowly open them up now, yet he still could only see darkness. For a moment, his heart skipped a beat, as he personally thought that he was blinded by something beforehand. It was with an unmeasurable relief when he realised that his whole face was buried into the sand, giving the surrounding darkness its origin.

He checked if his neck was functional, and he gladly acknowledged that it was; Markson lifted his head up to an awkward angle, although - interestingly - it did not seemed that uncomfortable as anytime before.

For seconds, the only visual image Chris could perceive was the sun shining right into his eyes, an impenetrable light, forcing him to squint until his pupils were finally used to the level of brightness.

Looking a bit to his left, he spotted something that made him drop his mouth - which, again, seemed more odd than it should have; what he spotted was a massive tree, possibly some ancient thing, as nothing grew this high - not in normal places, anyway. Its branches - that appeared to be in hundreds, if not thousands - arched outwards, casting a shadow on everything under it - but not on Markson, as he was on the opposite side of where the shadow was cast.

Since it was autumn, it was expectable that not many leaves would be present; this unique tree have not made an exception: the previously mentioned branches were all bare, waiting for the end of winter, when they would win their colours back.

By a logical theory, he could not have been that far away from the United Kingdom's shoreline, taking that the plane crashed roughly an hour after takeoff, but was turned back not long after the hijacking. Before they had the chance to l and though, the electric fail occurred, and then... The rest is history, as the saying went.

But these trees did not grew in places like the UK, not even in Wales or Ireland, if he was washed up on a shore over there by any chance; this tree was something... unique, massive, majestic... every single synonym of the word „big" was circling around Barnes' mind.

To gather more information about his surroundings, Markson kept turning his head around, and the simplicity of his movements - again - seemed weirdly facile.

To his left was water, to his right, the exact equivalent; behind him...

„Whoa! Wait a minute!", he thought while his brain processed multiple theories and assumptions with sheer confusion, „Did I just turned my head fully around?".

Chris' surprise caused him to snap his head forward, and - while doing so - he undertook the minorly complicated process of the attempt to reconstruct the events that happened seconds ago. „No", he told himself, „I need to see this myself to believe it!".

He slowly started to turn his head to the left again; to a regular 90 degrees angle, nothing especially notable happened. There and then, he should not have been able to rotate his head further, as the movement range of his neck would naturally have ended at that point.

But this was not what came next; instead of stopping, Markson was able to fully turn his head around in a 180 degrees angle, and it did not even occur to him that behind him was something overbearingly familiar: the surrounding sea.

Barnes faced his front again, yet he saw a so-far unseen object lying quarter-a-meter from his face: it was the P228 pistol, the firearm that saved his life when... when the aircraft was still in the air.

By some instinct of the past years, Chris automatically, almost unconsciously, reached out for the weapon that - in this current course of happenings - could give him a feeling of safety and security. Strength - very minor though - returned to his muscles, he could feel his arm, lifting up from the sand, extending to take a grip on the sidearm...

From what he saw, he believed that he was dreaming or unconscious for the whole time; this would have explained that massive tree which did - almost - seemed physically impossible.

Instead of his hand approaching and taking possession of the firearm, Markson noticed some things of brown colour, streaked with a creamy-white; it took him a second to realise to what these visuals belonged to, but when he did, Chris immediately halted his breathing.

These were feathers, no doubt, yet their presence here was unknown for him; but this was about to differ, and alarmingly quickly.

Barnes' hand was nowhere to be seen, not anymore; apparently, wings took its place, now covering the pistol down fully, so not a single part of it was visible. His brain took a short time in processing that his arm was that wing, further proven by the fact that the two extremities made their motions in the exact same time, lifting and turning contemporaneously.

\- What hell is this? - he whispered out loud, and suddenly noticed another strange difference: he was unable to move his eyes in their sockets; those just would not look left or right, no matter what he did. Frightened by these previous oddities, Markson attempted to calm himself down.

„Okay!", he thought, „Do not panick, Chris! You are still unconscious, and this is a really strange hallucination you are having right now!".

However, the whole place - even himself in this... weird shape - felt way too real; the chilling, cold wind running across his back, the loudly crashing waves in the vicinity, sometimes sending water-vapour to fly across the air, which - even more rarely - landed on his back, only to be later soaked in by the...

Feathers? This was beginning to be too much for Markson; he was convinced that this was not the reality, but everything spoke against him.

Chris calmly - although this was heavily forced by him - rotated his head around; after all, the range he could turn his neck - apparently - became wider. Seconds later, he spotted his back, covered with the same things his current „hallucination" depicted on his arms; Barnes did not wanted to call them feathers, yet he did not knew why.

Checking his back, he saw another collection of the brown-streaked quills, resembling a delta-shape, presently pointing outwards, to the direction of the sea; nearing his head, the feathers of the same colours, but smaller types, coating his back, aligned perfectly on his skin; every single one of them looked undoubtedly real, mixing Markson's brain with different thoughts, some being realistic, but others crossing the line of rationality, wandering as far to believe that everything in front of him was real; even him being a... a...

Chris could not do this. All that was going on was starting to overwhelm him on a mental level; too much was happened that could not be processed in mere minutes by Barnes - or anyone else, in fact - but such a situation was bound to leave him leave him in a definite shocked state at one point or another. Now, he was waiting for that moment to kick in.

Waiting, but for too long.

At this point, he concluded that the only logical explanation for this was that he indeed was still unconscious; these wings and feathers were simply in a deep and strange part of his mind - imagined, not even close to real - and the justification of everything feeling so lifelike in this mind-induced imagination was caused by a coma. Maybe, in the „real-world", where he was awake, Markson was lying on a hospital bed, guarded by Elisa and Anna - despite the fact that even Chris himself doubted that his ex-wife would have came along, this might have been going on right now - or, if not by her, maybe Broyles came along on occasions, checking up on the wounded TSA agent who just survived the crash of an airplane, but prevented the death of 200 passengers.

Or, alternatively, no one was there, just some random agent, looking in once per two weeks, making sure if he was still breathing. The possibility of that might have sounded harsh, but the truth was that neither Elisa, nor Broyles would have came as far as England to check on him. Yet, Chris could understand this; the people he knew were at least a thousand kilometers away, and they had their own lives and everyday jobs, be that looking after a child, or the whole defense of a country's air corridors.

Now, Barnes had nothing else to do, just wait for this dream to end; he turned himself over, and now leaned on his back with his hallucinated „wings" spread out, resting on the sand next to him, as if they were still arms.

Just seconds later, he heard someone shout, speeding his pulse up to a level which was commonly categorised as excitement:

\- Hey! - the voice appeared to have no accent or dialect; it sounded like a totally regular, clear version of spoken English, not influenced by the background of any nation - We got someone alive down here!

Looking up, Markson spotted the shape of something, floating down towards him, its point of origin seemed to be the massive tree. Albeit his vision seemed way more clearer than beforehand, not to mention that he just heard that shout in a crystal-clear way, despite the speaker being - judging from Chris' point of view and estimated distance - at least 50 meters away.

Barnes noticed only now that his vision began to fade and darken once again, deeply similar to his last conscious moments on the plane, right before the crash.

He needed to squint, trying to identify the shape of whatever it was that was floating - more like flying - towards him; a black spot, flanked by two dark lines moving up and down in an angle, very much resembling a bird flapping its wings. But it could not have been an animal!

„After all, they cannot talk!", he thought in an already half-unsconscious way, his head beginning to feel confused and fuzzy, „I just... I just need to... to go back to sleep. Damn, I feel so tired...", he already started to drift off, but as his face sank into the wet, cold sand, he partially woke up again.

Markson realised that he needed to open his eyes again; when he did, what he sighted was highly unexpected by him, even in this strange coma-dream.

Some kind of bird was leaning over him, scanning across his whole body with dark but lively eyes. For a moment, it leaned way too close to be considered comfortable by Chris - especially if it believing that he was dead - but yet again, he was unable to move a muscle, only his eyes stayed minimally open, allowing him to vaguely, but see what happened around him.

The bird, leaning close to his face, appeared to be looking right into Chris' pupils, now probably seeming confused and sleepy. After that, it backed off, turned its head towards Markson's P228 - he only guessed at this point; he could not turn his head, but he remembered the direction in which he last saw his gun, when he last tried to take hold of it.

Then, out of the blue, the bird opened its beak, and shouted towards the direction of the tree:

\- I need some help over here! - it was the same voice Chris heard just minutes ago - I could also use someone from the healing chaw; no matter who, just hurry!

Markson's eyelids did not give up just yet, he looked at this bird, in disbelief and fear in the same time. It appeared to notice this, giving off a sign of relief when it saw that Barnes was not dead.

\- Wh... - began Chris, but failed in talking, and a weak cough came out instead. The more he coughed, the more darker everything became, slowly fading away into nothingness.

\- Keep your breath for later, buddy! - said the bird in a friendly, calming voice - You are through the worst of it, whatever it was that brought you here.

\- What the hell? - these were the last words that Markson was able to force out; almost inaudible and exhausted, but the bird was apparently able to hear it.

Even if it did, it did not mattered to Chris anymore; he gave up, and - once again - fell into the state of unconsciousness; comforting darkness surrounded him, and his rapid course of thoughts ended.

In this current case, being in a blacked out state was different; no hallucinations, no twisted or unrealistic dreams; instead, literal nothingness and silence was present in his mind.

Even his thoughts appeared to have been blocked out by the unconsciousness, leaving him totally alone, almost non-existent in his own head.

Luckilly, this lasted for a significantly shorter timespan than his previous faint, Markson himself estimating a rough 30 minutes in total length after he awoke.

First, the only hearable sound that came around was his own, worryingly slow heartrate, almost as loud at every single beat as a gunshot on a quiet evening; well, on the bright side, Markson never had the misfortune to have ran into such a scene in real life.

Minutes later, he was able to hear indistinguishable words, as if he was underwater; catching this and that from various sentences, but not being able to put all the pieces together, as these words were to vague and unclear to be recognised. Although distorted, Chris, not sure why or where from, but managed to partially recall the voice from the past; maybe not even from so long ago.

A few moments passed, and the voices - which turned out to be two distinct voices - now became more or less clearer and understandable; even though Barnes' head still swam, he attempted to concentrate on the heard voices.

Still, this better hearing though with a kickback: a headache slowly started to build itself up, setting him back on his pre-planned task. Nevertheless, Markson was desperate, definitely downright about the need to find out what happened; especially that he perfectly remembered everything after the crash. Even that strange occurrence at the damp, sandy shore.

He heard fragments of a sentence, said by a voice that Chris never before in his life encountered:

\- ...glad to... he is all fixed up... needs to wake up... will be able to... questions... - at this point, everything grew quite; the only sounds heard by Markson now very closely resembled footsteps, but it was as if the person who walked around did not wore shoes, yet still managed to make little click-like noise at every step.

Seconds later, another voice - the one that, apparently, was know by Chris - came into play, but its audibility and hearability was at the same, badly distinguishable level:

\- ...was good that... fast... back at the beach... - by now, Barnes was able to clear his head out, though that ache in his skull still pulsated violently; despite the pain, all words were clearly recognisable now - How is he, by the way? - the voice was now perfectly audible, not distorted or repressed by his previously suffered half-conscious position.

\- Well, I examined him very carefully, and I dare say that you would certainly be surprised! - said the unidentified voice - To be honest, when I said that I „fixed him up", I bluffed, but at an acceptable level, in my opinion; other than this minor unresponsiveness, this owl here is perfectly healthy. Of course, he is required to wake up from his coma to prove my statement correct! - Markson, although not knowing the talker, could easily have declared that he was knowledgeable, and, from what he said and how he said it, it was susceptible that, given the present circumstances, this individual was a someone of medical skills and knowledge.

Yet, there was one little detail that troubled Chris: this... person, or whomever it might have been, spoke a single, but strange phrase in the midsts of his sentence: „this owl", said as naturally as if it was indeed an everyday thing to say. Thinking back on the beach, all those hallucinated apparitions and physical changes... Barnes started to wonder if these were only what he thought they were, simple imaginations; nevertheless, from this second on, Markson's trust in his own thoughts began to falter.

\- What else do we know? - asked the familiar voice - I mean, so far, the only information we have is that he „suddenly" appeared at the shore; no warning from the sentries, even they said that they could not see anyone or anything coming. For now, we have nothing.

„Sentries?", thought Chris, „Why am I getting the feeling that this is not a hospital?". More and more doubt grew in Barnes, putting him closer to the edge of calmness; he wanted to shout questions out, demand an explanation for what was happening right here and now, where he was, and why he was here.

So many questions, so many things to be found out; still, Markson perfectly knew that none of the previous would be answered. Making a conclusion of what he heard seconds ago, neither did anyone else knew more than he did; maybe about his whereabouts, but nothing other than that. His eyes felt like iron-curtains, very much as they were like back at the shore; for now, he was hoping to gather his strength, not to waste it by attempting different, presently would-be exhausting movements and actions.

\- Well, Irvis - light shone in Chris' brain at the words of the unknown's voice; now he knew the familiar sounding one's name - Some type of a Spotted owl, Strix something, I am not sure, I never saw an owl like him before - a deep breath was taken by the talker - Anyway, he is around the age of 4 years, no visible physical injuries - a short, but meaningful pause was kept here - However - emphasised the individual yet unknown - There is a... particularly unusual detail about him - albeit Markson was, at present time, unable to see from his own willing, he still had that „feeling" of a presence approaching him; indeed, the unique footsteps were heard again, coming towards him. Moments later, they became less frequent, then fully stopped - This owl's beak here is of a silver colour! - the trace of honest astonishment was present in this sentence.

\- Maybe he was a collier - said the voice now officially recognised as „Irvis" - They tend to have their beaks discoloured from all those fires eventually.

„What on earth is a collier?", wondered Markson; all the while his uneasiness was starting to build up. „Some kind of miner? Is that still a job these days?".

\- Still, colliers' beaks always gain a sooty-gray tinge; yet, our friend here has a very outstanding silver shade. Moreover, you saw his eyes - silence followed for a couple of seconds, weighing down heavily on the place - If there is one unusuality on him, that would be his eyes! - steps were heard again, and the unknown's voice moved away - Do you think Felias would know more?

„Another name to memorise", thought Chris, „Now I just need to find out who you are!".

\- Felias? - sighed Irvis, the sign of a hopelessness clearly audible - He is still doing research on the Graymarsh-incident. Do you think he would keep a break for the sake of one random owl? - the question was, of course, rhetorical; at least, from the sudden finish on the topic, this was what Markson decided upon.

\- For this one? - asked the other, unknown voice - I, myself, would definitely take the risk to disturb him; especially about such a remarkable... physical alteration our fellow owl here bears on himself! - awkward muteness came after his words, confusing Barnes about what might have been going on that he was unable to see - Speaking of which, you know that I would gladly go and ask him, but - this last word was way too lengthened by the speaker, in Markson's opinion - I cannot abandon my post here, you see. Would you be able to...?

\- Not another word, Matthias! - Irvis brought his sentence to an end - I am on my way.

At this point, Chris realised what this „Matthias" was attempting to imply; suggesting someone into an action was not a new verbal strategy - if it could have been called that in the first place; he did not directly wanted to ask this other individual, this... Irvis - for whatever reasons he had - to do him what he deemed necessary. Instead, he - although failing on many levels - hinted the act to be done; the downfall to this tactic came when Irvis ended his sentence, showing that he definitely discovered the plan Matthias forged.

Still, Markson could not feel himself that smart; after all, Irvis was doing the request, no matter what just happened. There were relations here that were still undiscovered, leaving Chris lost in a logical maze which he did not have a map to.

The weird footsteps sounded again, prompting to Barnes that Irvis was truly on his leave; though faintly, but his voice could still be heard:

\- Next time, tell me directly what you need! - clearly hearable. Yet, the tone suggested the desire to not to be heard. Markson was not the only one to acknowledge this.

\- You know, I can still hear you! - shouted Matthias, off into the distance. A laugh came as the first part of the answer, then the second piece came as well.

\- Who said I did not wanted you to? - another chuckle, although an unusual version of that; it sounded sharp and whirring, almost as if it came from a grasshopper or a cricket. Or a bird.

Chris could not stay in silence for any longer; he wanted to know where he was, what happened to him, and all the rest one would desire to find out after an accident such as a crash. His eyelids' controllability did not changed, they continued to be unresponsive. Barnes' only chance was to talk, ask, demand; whichever would come to be necessary.

He tried to speak, but no sound came out; to get that part of his system working again, he swallowed, which turned out to be a terrible idea: uncontrollable coughing settled upon him, forcing him to breathe in more and more; the only problem was that he could feel himself slipping again, losing that hardly gained energy that he built up in the past minutes, as inhaling only led to more coughing.

\- Careful now, do not push yourself! - Markson felt that something cold was placed on his chest; as an involuntary reflex, he jerked to the side, almost falling off from whatever he was lying on - Calm down, this is just something to halt the coughing! - a minor force was applied this time, Chris could clearly feel it - My apologies if this hurts, but I must do this in cases like the current one! - Barnes did not understand what he was talking about, but then, approximately after five seconds, the cold thing, possibly being a liquid, started to burn viciously; more than that, cruelly.

\- Ah, God! - shouted Markson - What the hell did you put on me? - he pressed the words out, only realising that he was able to speak. It was almost as if the thing on his chest set him on fire; it burned on his skin, becoming more and more difficult to handle.

\- Once again, I am sorry for this; but not applying the mixture would result in you coughing up blood! - luckily, the pain eased now, halting its acidic effect - This was Firegrass; I know, not a pretty feeling, but at least it does not kills you! - the speaker was Matthias, it could not have been another person - Does quite the opposite, actually.

Chris let out a heavy, painful moan, shaking off the remnants of the burning sting; he tried to open his eyes, and, to his comfort and relief, gladly certified that his vision was back; or, at least, he was able to open up his eyelids.

Everything was still bright and blurry, forcing Barnes to squint with his eyes, distorting his vision, but helping his pupils to adjust themselves for the light, slowly sharpening his vision to beyond perfect; Markson was so occupied with figuring out what was happening that he even forgot to notice the previously mentioned.

\- There we go, good as new! - said Matthias, his voice drifting from one end of the place to the other, the strange steps rising and shrinking in their volume here and there - Stay still for a few minutes; for your own sake, I should add! - something rustled in the distance, very much resembling feathers pressing against each other; how did this even come to Chris' mind? Not that he never heard such a thing beforehand, it was not new to him; if he was indeed in a hospital, why would there be such sounds to be heard? - My fellow friend will be back in a moment, and he is planning to ask you some questions. If you feel strong enough when he arrives, I trust you will answer his inquiries - Matthias finished his conversation, which appeared to be undoubtedly one-sided.

For the past minutes, Chris has been studying the ceiling above him, speculating and guessing, trying to figure out what it was made from; his first assumption would have been a type of wallpaper, maybe used for a presumably calming decoration of the hospital's ward. But no; it looked way too much realistic to be a regular plaster, stuck on there since the establishment of whatever this place was. It looked like real wood.

And real wood it was; dark- and light-brown in colour, the „lines of age" intertwining and twisting in the rough surface, spreading out in all directions possible. It was as if Markson had viewed a tree from the inside; a fine and everyday example of a hollow. Only that it could not have been that; that was what Chris' common sense was telling him. Yet, in unreal circumstances, common sense was the last thing to be relied on. In madness, logical perception was the last thing to be trusted.

Now that his vision returned to a totally recovered level, Barnes tilted his head to the left, finally glancing at the full length of room he was kept in; only that it was - as his assumptions clearly told him beforehand, suggesting his true surroundings - not a hospital.

Well, at least, not a hospital he ever saw or was used to: it was a bird's hollow, a massive one at that, with its supposed occupant walking around of what appeared to be the entrance to this... space of living. Markson could not see well, as the natural opening took place in an angle not advantageous for him, yet he could have sworn that, outside, he saw the exact sea he did on the shore - it could not have been any other.

To the left of this „entrance", there was a pile of what could be compared to a badly organised stack of papers, crowded with heaps of what looked like small bowls crafted of timber, bits of grasses and different herbs hanging out from some. On the right, a very different sight took place: a well-built-up, organised assortment of shapes similar of books, covered with a material resembling animal skin, decorated with fancily-written letters, bearing such titles as The War of the Three Lords, Comparative Study of the Genus Strix and Their Subfamilies, and The Extended Analysis of the Currently Recorded Incidents and Events of Unexplainable Origin, all lengthy inscriptions bearing figures coloured faint-gold.

The bird at the far-end of the hollow turned around, a piece of paper taking place in its beak, as if it was holding it as a human would have done with a hand. It walked a few paces in Chris' direction, who now managed to recognise it as some kind of owl. When it stopped, it lifted its left talon, took the paper from its own beak, then placed it down on another, though smaller pile of papers, then faced Markson again. Next, it spoke; just casually, as if it was just a regular, everyday-type of conversation taking place.

\- Oh, I see you are getting better! - it was a weird sight; the bird's beak opened and closed in speech as a mouth would have; understandable, perceivable words, sentences came out from there, although, in reality, they should not have - I would want to ask you to just rest for at least half a day, my friend will be back in a minute to ask you those questions, and as long as he is not here... - the bird kept a short pause, frighteningly similar to the effect a human conversationalist would have used - I will do a part of this inquiry.

Now that Barnes observed the owl's face for a longer period of time, he could partially identify this bird; of course, not precisely by its exact species, latin name and all the rest, but there was a certain shape to its face that Chris never did quite forget - bear in mind that the fact, that Markson did not hate anything more than biology in his younger days, was still there.

This here was undoubtedly a variant of a Barn owl, possibly the most commonly recognised from all of the whole species; there was the almost mask-like face with the deeply black eyes, fully white, closed in a heart-shape by a brown outline of feathers; the rest of the body followed a corresponding pattern, with black and brown speckles and markings recurring at certain places, mostly the wings, but some on the chest.

\- First, let us start with names! - began the owl again, still leaving Markson in a confusing and disorienting mix of shock and disbelief - May I have the privilege to know yours? - if there was any aggression in that question, it was either hidden well, or Barnes just could not detect it; a regular question, not much difference from the one that Tate directed to him, back on that aircraft.

\- Where am I? - asked Chris, maintaining eye contact, being in the strange belief that this might earn his answer earlier.

\- Now, I do not mean to startle you, but... that was not what I asked; leastwise, not the response I had expected - the bird could not, ostensibly, decide how to state his complaint. Belatedly, leaving much room for Barnes to think, the owl settled upon this as his ultimate sentence to return - That was just not what I asked.

\- No, it was what I asked! - Markson strengthened his voice, clearly sending his intended message - Where am I? - all words were firmly reinforced and emphasised, certainly telling this bird to give an honest, proper response about Chris' current location.

The owl opened its beak, as if it was about to retort, but seemingly changed its mind in the last moment. After the two stared into each other's eyes, keeping up a solid visual connection for a moderately long time, the bird spoke again, Barnes deeply hoping that his answer will be said next.

\- You want to know where you are? - the owl echoed Markson's aforementioned words - Fine! - it looked away to the left, scanning the previously seen books, as if they were to provide him the with a smart and appropriate response. Seconds passed, and the bird turned its head back to face forward, gazing at Chris again - You are, right now, in the infirmary of the Great Ga'Hoole Tree, centered in the Sea of Hoolemere, standing as the capital of the Five Kingdoms of the South - the bird sighed; Markson knew that it was him who awoke this reaction, but he felt no regret for it.

It was another one of those passively interrogative methods; talk to someone as if you had the upper hand, and they will sing, just like a bird (which, in the current case, was rather ironic), believing that they will be victorious in the verbal conflict.

\- Now you speak! - the bird's words were surprisingly close to an order, yet still sounded like humble phrase, a small, weak request - Answer my earlier question; believe me, it would be preferable for both you, and me! - the owl hesitated for a moment; it was at a decisive loss of words, Barnes clearly knew that the bird was not a master of arguments.

„Yet again, I am the one who is arguing with a bird!", raised Chris a valid point against himself, „Well, I already went downhill when I started the conversation, not like it matters anymore!".

\- My name is Christopher Markson, I am a TSA agent - he began, keeping a serious and meaningful tone - Look, I do not know where I am, even though you just told me; sincerely, I have never heard of this place - admitted Barnes honestly, and shook his head slowly in his lying position - I will need to get in contact with my director! - he was about to ask for a phone or another type of communicative device, but realised that, as stupid it sounded, was in a bird's hollow - One way, or another.

\- „Teyessay"? - asked the bird - I never heard that name beforehand! - it squinted with its eyes, as if it has doubted that Markson just spoke the truth; it was obvious that the owl believed that this was a lie to cover up the truth - Is this... establishment you belong to exists in the Northern Kingdoms? The Beyond? The Forbidden Kingdom? - it kept listing different names Chris has never heard of.

„What is this place, some secretly developed... bird's kingdom?", asked Barnes from himself in thought, „If this is still a weird hallucination of a coma, why does it feels believable?".

He hung his head, relaxing it while he stared at the floor, which, not a surprise at all, was still the inside of a tree's hollow.

\- Transportation Security Administration - spoke the marshal (although the form of address „ex-marshal" may have been more suitable since the crash) - We keep airlines safe from any hostile acts - Barnes realised that he drifted of course, excessively, to be fair - Listen - Chris looked up, but the bird was facing away from him, thus, eye contact could not be established - I know this sounds unconvincing, in fact, I believe that I am not even awake and that all I see here is just... a strange fragment of my imagination, but - he raised his voice to a level that would certainly show the importance of his words - I am not from here! - the owl turned its head, its dark eyes almost stabbing into Markson's gaze - I am not what you are, you cannot see that?

Sheer and pure confusion sat into the owl's eyes, a questioning expression came upon its face (although Chris was not sure that this was even physically possible).

\- What are you talking about? - asked the bird curiously, measuring Barnes from what seemed, supposedly, foot to head - I do not know how you ended up on that shoreline, but no doubt, you must have took quite a blow to the head! - it carried on, as Markson still did not understood the point this owl was trying to make - You still do not understand? Take a look at yourself, that hopefully will give it away!

Chris followed these instructions, and attempted to look at himself, but his eyes just would not move; this was the first sign that could have told him the peculiar, yet potentially terrifying truth. The same feeling took hold of him that he experienced on the shore; the one where he felt like that he was not in his own body, that he was different in his usual... being.

Acting alternatively, Markson bent his head to the right, which allowed him to take a look at his own chest from his current position; he saw the same brown coloured feathers he did back on the shore, everything was exactly identical and all were the equivalent of the sights, last seen down on the beach.

He raised his right leg, but, instead of a foot showing in his sight, a yellow talon, a kind only a prey of bird could have possessed, came into view, following every single motion, down to the smallest of movements, that Barnes made; an owl's talon this was, more specifically, completed with a deadly-looking set of claws.

Chris shook his head in disbelief, almost not being able to logically perceive himself; his heart started to race once again, his head swam with thoughts: „dream", „real", and „strange" were the most common words reappearing in his brain's ocean, flowing endlessly like water itself.

Markson turned his head towards the bird, who could not seem to decide what was actually happening. The owl also stared at Barnes, their eyes firmly locking together; minutes went by, not measured by any of the two in the hollow; their only action was just a stare at each other. Shortly, after at least five minutes passed, the bird spoke.

\- Not from here, you say? - a shadow fell across its face, and its actions suddenly became hasted, almost panicked - We might have a much larger problem then, Teyessay - the bird hurried off, towards the golden-titled books, revealing the source of those strange steps Markson heard previously. It took one out from the pile, opened it up at a specific page, clearly unknown to Chris, and started to deeply study the papers.

From what Barnes deduced of the last sentences spoken, he was probably in trouble; he did not really knew why, but a certain feeling was in him, the kind that is in a man's gut at desperate times; only difference being now was that it was not in his stomach, but in something he could not know by name. Not yet.

„I cannot just lie here like some kind of wounded man, or... or bird, it does not matter!", Chris thought, beginning to form a plan in his head, „For all I know, I am to be questioned if I wait, and even my current... acquaintance here does not believes a word I say!".

Markson have been through such a situation beforehand, although it was only a part of his training, very far and different from a real interrogation; yet, his superiors still managed to make it a realistic experience in his days of learning to be a marshal. He had no wish for such an experience again.

Still, even if he managed to escape this... infirmary, he did not knew how much more of these owls could be around; they were silent killers of prey in the night. In the current case, Chris would have been forced to fight with weapons he was unable to use: his, though new, but very much real, claws.

Waiting was no option. „I will improvise when the time comes", he decided, already ready for the next - more like first - segment of his plan of movements. „I will need to subdue this bird over here; but how?", he wondered.

Wrapping one's arm around someone's neck to temporarily cut their body's oxygen should do the trick; „It could not work that differently with wings!", he thought, frowning one on the inside. „At the end of the day, these are just limbs, are not they?", as hard as he attempted to cheer himself up, get in a better he mood, he could not.

Barnes suspected where he was, but not on a level where he could have sworn on it; for now, he will just follow his pre-planned strategy, and, non-lethally, deal with this owl.

The bird was still busy with the study of the book, paying no attention to Chris; not that he made any noise or motions, but a smart warden should always keep at least half-an-eye on the prisoner.

Markson slowly, carefully, and quite weirdly, tried to sit up, but, obviously, his current body was not shaped for such an action, resulting in him almost rolling down on the wooden floor of the hollow, which would have clearly alerted his guard. To his luck, nothing happened.

What he thought of was running up behind this owl, then subduing him by the technique described above; now, that he put his foot... talons on the floor, Chris, in his heat of a sudden act, failed to notice the instability he normally would have easily acknowledged.

That was what doomed his plans.

The moment his talons touched the floor, Markson slipped, but of a liquid being on the floor; in this different physical shape, anyone would have needed time to be used to his or her new body.

Yet Chris forced and pushed himself, a movement he deeply regretted now; the next hearable sound was him, crashing against the wooden floor, cursing way too noticably.

The owl spinned around, seeing the helpless Chris, lying on the ground, staring at him with determined and intimidating eyes, lamely putting effort into getting right back up. Strangely, the bird failed to notice the offense in Barnes' eyes, and, instead of taking advantage of the situation, the owl hurried for Markson's help, reaching out with its right talon to get him back up.

Seeing his window of opportunity, Chris - again, awkwardly - grabbed into the bird's foot, and pulled him down on the ground, definitely causing a surprise, which paralysed the owl long enough to be useful for him.

He rolled on top of him, and pressed his right arm... no, not arms; not anymore. Barnes pressed his right wing deep into the bird's throat, which caused it to give out an alarmingly painful choking noise, unwittingly inducing Markson to lighten his force on a minor level; he did not wanted to kill, only non-lethaly subdue.

The owl defenselessly tried to protect itself with its claws, causing minor damage on Barnes' skin, but not sever enough to make him bleed; as an animal in panick - which it was in - the bird weakly flapped its wings around, as if that would help him get his attacker off. Expectedly, this did not help the owl.

The self-protective motions were becoming weaker and weaker by the second; at this point, pushing inwards would have broke the bird's windpipe, rendering it motionless forever. But, once again, Barnes was not here to kill. He did not even knew why he was here. Time might tell, but, right now, the most important thing was to...

\- What in Glaux's name is going on here?! - a voice shouted from the night, almost making Chris to jump off from his defenseless combatant. Barnes twisted his head around, which turned exceptionally easily, and unnaturally far; there was another owl in the entrance of this hollow, although Barnes could not have identified it by its species - I need some help over here! We need Nightbloom's essence, hurry it up! - Markson saw an owl in its threatening or protective position in the past, but that was like nothing compared to this very moment; being the size of an everyday person gave you the feeling of protection when facing a bird (which a regular human would not have done casually, by statistics and numbers). Yet now, that Chris was the same size as the owl in the opening of the hollow, the experience was way more frightening, making Barnes unable to think for a moment.

He staggered to his talons, not knowing what he should do, how he should do it, or why; this was not a place he was familiar with, he did not even knew how to fight with claws. Markson was grounded here, literally.

\- I do not mean you harm! - slowly approached the owl - But know that I will not hold myself back from self-defense! - just like someone without a lethal weapon, but skill in brawling.

„This will be a challenge!", though Chris to himself, wondering if this was a smart idea. „Hand-to-hand combat? That is something I can do, but I am not sure if there is a wing-to-wing combat!".

The bird moved closer every second, ruining his own, previously spoken words of „not meaning harm".

„I guess we will find out soon!", the thought exploded in Markson's head; he lunged forward, readying his right wing to knock the owl off of its talons.

He could barely keeps himself straight on these talons - with his knees bending backwards, functioning in an entirely different motion - and his movement was greatly uncoordinated; for some reason, he was definite that he could take care of one simple bird, leaving him overconfident.

Yet, by the moment he got close enough, the bird raised its own wings, pushed Chris' to the side, then kicked - which would have been more of a kick for a human - him in the chest, leaving him breathless and exposed for another attack.

\- I warned you, have not I? - asked the owl, but the question was not taunting by any measures.

Nevertheless, Barnes was enraged now, sending charges of what seemed to be instincts into his brain, inducing him to act out without longer foreplanning.

Markson ran forth again, trying the same type of attack, which - known by both combatants - was not the best idea; Chris found this out the hard way:

His lunge was now met with the bird evading from his attack, stepping to the side before he could even reach the owl; hoping for an unexpected move, instead of calmly turning around after a failed charge, Markson spinned around, slashing through the air with his left wing, but hitting nothing.

Although he missed again, his wing was in a comfortably good position to hit with another strike, so on he went and took his chances; the owl successfully blocked with its own wing again, retaliating by headbutting into Chris' face, then slipping its talons with great force into Barnes', causing him to trip over, resulting in him lying on the floor once again, helpless and vulnerable.

He was about to get up again - which would have took a great deal of his time - but another two of the similar looking birds rushed into the hollow, swiftly spotting the not-so-great threat; even though Markson felt like an absolute amateur, the two newly arrived owls stood on his wings, as to make sure that he did not move at all. Next a type of small, metal tube was given into the talons of his original opponent by a third, undeniably smaller owl; this metal device was then brought over to Chris, where the bird stabbed it into his chest, causing that highly uncomfortable pain, normally achieved by a needle penetrating the skin.

It was then, that it dawned upon Barnes: it was, in fact, some type of liquid they wanted to inject into him, and he even had a very accurate guess of what it was used for.

But, before he could react by any way, even knowing that his talons remained free and unrestrained, it was obviously too late now; the hollow started to slowly fade and spin around him.

„Not again!", he thought painfully, as he already had his fair share of blackouts today, or the past days; he was unable to keep track of time, so this information was lost to him.

However, he passed out again, only that this time it was caused by a type of substance administered, not of fatigue or shock. This was probably the fastest instance he drifted off into that familiar and calm darkness of an unconscious mind; only that is was not healthy to think about such a state of the mind in this way.


	6. Interrogation Revelation

**Took me long enough (_way_ too long) again, but I did have some complications, involving both technical and practical problems which I will not venture into.**

**All stories have their hills and valleys; some chapters turn out good, some become rather unenjoyable, and this is a fact. This new chapter is definitely not my best, but I dare say that it is not my worst. Of course, the material I needed to work with at this point was rather unorganised, and was not easily put together, but still created something at the end.**

**Now, if anyone that gets to end and thinks that "Well, this is a bit sloppy!", I would agree as well; the end was put together too swiftly, but I needed to keep up with my schedule. Plus, sometimes a writer needs to make the sacrifice of making one chapter a bit dull, so that the ones coming after it may be better and more developed. And I hereby promise that this chapter is the bottom of the valley, and this is the lowest I will ever get with this story.**

**Anyway, enough from the literary philosophy, and let us focus on the next chapter itself!**

_**I do not own the Guardians of Ga'Hoole series.  
****I take Christopher Markson, Irvis, and Matthias as my own characters and creations.  
Even though he is only mentioned, Soren still belongs to Kathryn Lasky.  
The Federal Air Marshal Service and the Transportation Security Administration are not my creations.**_

Interrogation Revelation

_Unknown Location_

_Unknown Time_

_Christopher Barnes Markson, ex-TSA_

„You are so incompetent, a moron, and a bloody idiot at that!", Markson scolded himself, roughly an hour later, after he was sedated by those owls; as it turned out subsequently, Chris was moved to another one of the weirdly comfortable and well-spaced hollows, yet, this was used specifically to keep prisoners secure, and, occasionally, to interrogate these captives. Such was scheduled for Barnes, bound to occur in mere minutes, according to the... individual, another owl, who, in Markson's opinion, spoke way too amiably.

It was the first thing he saw when the effects of what was injected into him by force wore off; the bird, at that time, was standing in a corner, probably waiting _only_ for Chris to regain his senses, then speak what he was, apparently, told by _its_ superiors.

„_Your questioning will take place soon. If you will have the patience for a few minutes, our designated Guardian shall come shortly"_. That was what the owl said, its words echoing in Chris' head even now. „Hm,_ Guardian_!", he thought; that was an entirely new word for him in this concept.

Time went by, and after what appeared to be thirty minutes, a moderate period of time where he had been left with his own thoughts, Markson managed to figure out quite much.

He acted out way too fast and did not consider any of the consequences that were to come if he failed; and now, here he was, seeing the result of what he created, feeling very tempted to hit his own head against this hollow's walls - although he thought that this word was not proper for the structure of the wood. Yes, the ex-marshal indeed done a very foolish move, causing not just imprisonment, but definite distrust in everything and everyone around him.

He was also overconfident, a trait _never_ resulting in positive outcomes, leading him to somehow idioticly think, that in an unknown environment, in a different, not yet fully discovered body, _he_ was to be the one to prevail.

He was perfectly assured and confident about _him_ ending up as the stronger side, being a victor over something that is way more experienced in its own combat than Markson is, not even mentioning the very painfully memorable times he fell over, as his legs now obviously did not work the way they did beforehand, with knees bending backwards and all the other matters. In fact, when Chris attempted to walk for the first time he woke up in his... cell-like accomodation, staggering to his talons turned out even more catastrophically than before; he fell back to the ground as _soon_ as he stood up, attracting the questioning looks of the two owls, possibly serving the positions of guards at the only entrance - and exit - of this hollow.

This was not even the worst part of it: Markson did not just attack one of these owls, at least the one he did could defend itself; he subdued one of these birds that was unarmed, and, looking back at things now, it was actually trying to help him, relieving him of his pain.

And how did Barnes repay these efforts? By almost breaking its windpipe and strangling it to the brink of consciousness? No matter which perspective he viewed it from, that... deed he had done never seemed just for the troubles of the owl. Nevertheless, Markson made his first impression, and it was one for the worst side.

Wondering about all these changes in his physical shape were the ones most thought about by Chris, himself still having a hard time of fully understanding in depth what he became; never in his life he believed that such a phenomenon could occur, not that it even existed; this, what happened to him, it should not have been real at all. It was as if he had fell into an actual dream, only that he now knew that titling everything surreal that as a fragment of the sub-conscious mind's imagination was a type of cowardice and limitedness.

Facing _this_ truth as a truth was undeniably a hard task, yet, as soon as this „reality" was lived, accepting it suddenly became easy - very slowly, of course; it happened, life will keep going on, no matter what one would do in a futile attempt to change that.

Yet, running in the other direction and denying this „truth" was fearing it, being afraid of actuality; if this was the case, that person would never be able to perceive and understand of what has passed, already taken effect, changed this person's life entirely, permanently; this individual would eventually lose his or her mind, being pushed gradually into a state similar to madness, caused by the heavy burden which they are not daring to face. It is the easier way, but it most definitely has the worst end. All this would not happen because of their surroundings, but from the fear that it was real. Which it was.

But Markson knew that he drifted off, and, by this time, ten minutes passed, one third of his solidarity already gone (of course, at that point, he could not know this), wasted on Chris' own problems, scolding himself and philosophizing.

He wished that he could have a mirror, or anything reflective nearby, just so that he could face himself, his „new" self, and see what he looked like. The moderately weird thing to him was this sudden curiosity, being tempted to find out what he appeared like when seen by others; on some other, almost insignificant note, Markson, as a matter of fact, was interested, actually tempted to check himself in a full-body view.

Not that he could not take a look at himself in parts, he found out in the first ten minutes that he was able to turn his head way more than ever before, giving him an almost full range of view without the need to move his body with his head. No, Barnes has already made the basic discoveries about his new form; the now annoyingly familiar feathers he first spotted on the shore, still bearing that brown and creamy-white colour that seemed to represent the main plumage of the type of owl he was now; his limbs, once being arms now became wings, revealing a wingspan very much surprising to Markson when he unfolded them, and the feathers, the ones he _believed_ were used for flight, possessing the same tinges and shades of his full plumage. Although, if something, the most odd, yet still peculiar feature of his new shape had to be his tail with its own collection of feathers (expectedly, having the exact match of the now so well-known set of colours); seeing them for the first time was indeed weird, sending an almost frightened, but a somewhat excited curiosity across Markson, let alone the moment the ex-marshal realised that he was able to move all these tail-feathers around, though quite amateurishly, not exactly knowing _which_ muscle to shift, and being confused about the position and sensitivity of these tendons.

Then again, of course, his awe could have been easily expected; he was new to all this, it was obvious that he would be taken aback by his new body and its capabilities, Barnes himself being completely sure that most of these potentials still lay undiscovered.

Albeit this was the part he could not see, Chris could roughly imagine his own face right now: featuring that almost „classical", flat face of an owl, same feather colour-palette, completed by a beak, possibly of a yellow tinge.

What Markson could have gave for a mirror; even if that would have _only_ accomplished the task of easing his curiousness, that sole purpose did sounded like a very much enjoyable delight to Barnes at the currently given moment.

Then again, the ex-marshal needed a plan; a strategy, made for the case of matters going south. By this, Chris obviously meant an interrogation, if not worse.

If he was to be questioned, he better should make some answers for possible questions, starting with the basics.

His name? He would keep that in himself for now, if these owls were very leanient on finding it out, they were most welcome to try; Markson was not the man to be easily broken, especially not by words. But, if this interrogation dared to take the crucial step, go to the next level and start to turn into torture, well... That was where Chris' resistance would come to an end.

After all (and no matter what level of professionalism he was standing on as a marshal), he was technically on uncharted waters (although this expression sounded rather ironic in Markson's head, taking that he was _right in the middle_ of an ocean, imprisoned in a tree. Because these words in the same sentence do not sound weird and unbelievable at all, sarcasm _deeply_ intended).

Anyway, Barnes was always a man (now owl) of improvisation; he was now entering the first stage of what could become panick later, becoming nervous and his heart beginning to pump faster than the normal, but that did not meant that he could not keep himself calm. For at least 30 minutes, that is.

However, since he did not checked in the direction of the hollow's opening for the previous moments that passed by, Markson failed to notice that he was no longer alone; when turning around for a „just because"-type of reason, only to keep himself entertained by moving around, the ex-marshal came across an unexpected sight; there was an owl standing in the doorway-like opening of the hollow, holding what appeared to resemble a pair of nuts by firmly pressing a wing against its chest; the bird stopped for a brief second and did nothing of great importance, only stared inquisitively at Chris, its amber eyes almost piercing into Barnes' skull, metaphorically stinging his brain.

Markson kept himself fully neutral, not showing a trace of emotion (whatever that would have looked like on his face); he knew the rules of this game, but, the real question was, did the owl? If not, he had a clear and obvious advantage; but, if the bird was familiar with this and had the idea of how to play... well, Chris was fully sure that this is definitely going to be interesting.

Barnes' was lucky that the owl began first, automatically granting a higher starting position for the time when the ex-marshal would take his turn to give an answer; however, Markson was not sure of what answer to give once the given sentence was spoken.

\- I hope I did not disturbed your... solidarity - the owl looked confused, clearly not having an understanding of what Chris was doing; another good point for the ex-marshal. Nevertheless, the bird carried on - I am Irvis, and I was appointed to be your...

\- ...Interrogator? - it did not mattered how decorously the bird spoke, Markson disrupted his sentence anyway; with the previously heard sarcastic and satirical note, he laid down his metaphorical card of this game, plainly showing his attitude to his situation.

\- Consultant would be a more fitting word - stated the owl, a dry and humorless tone easily recognisable from its voice (which, now that Chris thought of it, was not that different from a human's speech).

\- So, essentially, an interrogator - repeated Markson, not taking his eyes of this „Irvis" for a second.

A moment later, it came back to him: this owl was present in the... „infirmary" he was kept in not so long ago, talking about something with the other owl, that one's name currently unremembered by the ex-marshal; if Chris was good with something, those were names (of course, there was a negligible number of exceptions); yet, he was better with words.

He was also extremely professional when it came to a fight with words.

\- Call me that, if you wish - declared the bird in a staid style of speech; similarly to Markson, „Irvis" also maintained a straight and continual stare - Although, you classing me as an interrogator will not change _anything_ on the fact that I am a consultant, and that I am only here to obtain information and determine if you are either a danger to the Tree, or what you have done was only a mistake, an act out of fear, perhaps.

„Either you are telling the truth or not, I must say that you know the advantegous way of speech!", thought Barnes, even himself secretly admitting his own surprise; no doubt, this owl potentially possessed a considerable amount of intelligence, a level that might be able to challenge Chris' capabilities.

Markson looked away for the first time, but only to check what it was that the owl was holding to itself with its wings; however, the ex-marshal still did not managed to perceive anything more out of the two previously seen nuts than what they appeared to be: two regular nuts.

\- Are those the part of your consult? - Barnes gestured (at least, he thought he did) towards the previously mentioned objects. The owl followed his gaze, staring down at the two sights of interest.

\- No, they are cups - and, afterwards, a bit awkwardly and needlessly, the owl added to its sentence - To hold drinks, which I would have thought to be rather obvious? - although this was more prim; originally, this started out as a statement, yet, it turned into a question at the end.

\- I see; something to confuse me, so I will answer your questions? - asked Chris way too ardently, causing a mixture of surprise and shock even to himself. As he saw how the confusion grew on the owl's face, Barnes started to feel satisfied, as he managed to, at least, cause a minor disorientation to his interrogator.

\- Uh, no - answered the owl uncomprehendingly, apparently not really following what Markson was talking about - This is just milkberry tea, and I thought you would want to have a drink, taking your current position - said Irvis, then handed a „cup" over with one talon.

Now, Barnes felt really stupid; there was a talking owl in front of him, handing him a nut - which was apparently used the same way a glass was - which contained „tea", made from some type of (probably) wild-berry. In a normal situation, Markson never could have pictured such a scene, surreal, yet actual.

Chris reached out (_very_ carefully concentrating on not losing his balance in the process) with one talon - the same way the owl did - to take the apparent „cup"; of course, he needed a moment to figure out which muscle moved which talon, causing Irvis to give him another puzzling look.

After a few seconds, Barnes managed to work out what each talon responded to; they vaguely felt like fingers when moved, but Chris could easily tell that there was a major difference here, obviously due to the distinct structure of an owl's talon.

Anyway, giving the „cup" a strong, but somewhat gentle grip, Markson took the object, and looked at the liquid stored inside it: the so-called „tea" had a faint-yellow tinge to it, a sweet aroma passing off from the drink's shaking surface.

Barnes glanced at the owl questioningly; this bird seemed less of a treat to Markson by every passing second, slowly building up confidence inside him. Maybe this owl was not attempting to interrogate him after all; well, not aggressively, that was for sure.

Plus, trust or no trust, Chris could have used a drink, and the opportunity was right there, held in his talons. He gave Irvis another glance, trying to immitate - with his beak - what would have been uncertain smile - with a mouth. The owl almost immediately reacted on this.

\- Do not worry, it is not poison! - Irvis reassured him, Chris hearing a trace of what might have been a repressed laugh - I mean, that would not be an efficient interrogation technique, if you ask me!

„Well, at least this owl has a sense of humor!", thought Markson, finding himself in the middle of also holding back a chuckle.

Barnes was tempted to drink this so-called tea, but the feeling in his stomach did not leave him in peace; premonition, maybe, but... he never believed in such things now, did he? Either way, the tea was still very encouraging and alluring, almost pulling the ex-marshal closer by the second; he _was_ about to take a sip and taste the drink, he almost accepted the fact that this would be something safe to do in an unknow environment. Then again...

\- I will not worry when I will trust you enough! - stated Markson, handing (or „taloning", maybe) the nut-cup back to the owl named Irvis, who swiftly reached for it, accepting the ex-marshal's decline - The same about my attitude, _interrogator_; when I believe that you have no intention to harm me, I will talk! - he put so much emphasis and antipathy into the word that he used to identify the owl that it was uncomfortably close to sounding offensive; yet, Chris had no purpose to make enemies (he even admitted to himself that if anyone, _he_ was the enemy, looking at the current standing of things), but he needed to regain the position in the conversation he lost when the „mighty tea" came into the scene.

\- I see - sighed the owl, placing the two „cups" on the floor so precisely that, in actuality, not a single drop of the tea has touched the ground; not then, and not a minute later - Then I take that you are not going to talk - the bird dropped its gaze, now constantly scanning the left side of the hollow (of course, nothing of interest was there). Half-a-minute passed, then he... it turned back to Markson - Well, you see, that puts both of us in an apparently unsolvable position: - started the owl - as I am not leaving this hollow until someone tells me otherwise, or you tell me everything I want to know about you. Do you understand how easy you could make all this? - two words came to Chris' mind: „typical interrogation", almost as if there was a script this bird had learned - My point is simple; we are going to stay here, _especially you_, until you do not talk. _Easy_.

And how simple it was indeed; the only complication was that Barnes was obviously not going to make this that easy; the rules changed, now what mattered the most was self-control and patience.

\- Let me answer! - began Markson, using his anti-interrogation voice and tone again; he pronounced every single word, short or long, in a clear and understandable manner, as if the individual he was talking to was stupid - I have nothing to say until _you_ tell me _where_ I am, explain that answer _thoroughly_, without missing information - at the end of this sentence, Barnes' voice was unintentionally increasing in volume, which did put a minorly surprised expression on Irvis' face - Oh, and when you are finished with that, you could try and start to devise a story on the topic that _especially_ intrigues me: why am I an owl? Do you think you can answer _that_?

A heavy and tense silence spread across the hollow, even the two guards at the opening started to take glances on rare occasions, turning their head back long before either Markson or Irvis could catch their gaze and make an eye contact; Chris kept staring, but the owl broke the eye contact and started to deeply study the floor.

However, even though Barnes was _just_ about to take up a long silence, not saying another word until the bird explained everything, something came to his mind; something, that, once again, not for the first time today, made him feel awkwardly stupid.

For the past hours, not for a single moment he succeded to recognise how eerily similar this... „world" was to the one written down in the book that Anna gave him; it was all too obvious now, many words he heard before came back to him, remembering how the main cast of characters were always searching for this exact same tree (which he was likely to be currently inside of; moreover, not likely; definitely). Even the names he could recall, although only one was really caught in his mind while he read it. And that was Soren; that owl was the main character, if Markson recited this correctly.

An idea began to form in his head; a pretty much „out-of-the-blue" plan, but who could knew? It might work just as it should; help Chris' expectations, and possibly explain a minimal amount of questions.

\- Do you know what, _interrogator_? - this got Irvis' attention, as he, uh... it looked up again, appearing to express interest on his face (again, Markson was not sure how he knew this) - I will explain everything, but only to an owl named Soren! - undoubtedly, Barnes did not have a single bit of knowledge about the bird he was requesting to see, neither did he have a clue if it even existed; he might have seemed to be on the top of the situation, but, under his almost emotionless cover, Chris was feeling inconvenient and uncomfortable. However, he could not allow the owl to gain the upper hand. That would be... unacceptable; an ex-marshal losing to a bird? This would be the hugest laugh of the decade, if not the century.

The attention and interest slowly, yet almost immediately shifted to confusion on the owl's face; Markson must have said something in his previous sentence that induced this type of reaction.

\- I am sorry, I... - stuttered the owl, almost drifting off into an uncomfortable laugh - Are we talking about... are we talking about the same owl here? - a short „_uh_" followed, then Irvis shook his head - Soren? King Soren?

Now that was a good question, as Markson had no idea about the answer; the best option in these cases was to drift along with the conversation, tell the asker what he wanted to know. This way, more facts and pieces of information could be found out without all the necessary effort.

\- Yes, him - talking about this specific owl as a person was strange enough to Barnes; his thoughts began to catch up with the events: what was he aiming to achieve here in the first place? A victory in a fight of words; what would that give him? Anything, but freedom, that was a fact.

\- The King Soren who fought in the War of the Ember? - Chris hated when _anyone_ did this; the owl kept asking these questions, as if they would change Markson's answer - The one who was the nephew of the deceased King Coryn?

Having no better idea, Barnes nodded; that book did not write - or even suggest - anything about this... Soren character ever becoming a king.

„Ha, _king_!", thought Markson, „Sounds like we are in the medieval ages right now!", then, after a small reconsideration of the circumstances, he carried on with his thoughts. „Well, I am the one talking to an owl, so I do not know why I should still be surprised by anything that might happen".

Irvis stared ahead of himself, grimly scanning the non-existant distance; not long after, he... _it_ looked at Chris again:

\- I am afraid that King Soren died more than a 120 years ago - Barnes' heart skipped a beat right at the end of this sentence; this meant that this loose end was now tied up, and it did not end in anything worthwhile - Thus, I believe it is certainly self-explanatory that... you know, talking to him is virtually impossible.

This was a problem; Chris' only reliability and opportunity turned out to be useless, as the individual he wished to talk to was, incontrovertibly, deceased.

„What to do?", thought Markson, nervousness and trepidation washing over him, „Come on, Chris, think of something! You dug this hole under yourself, time to climb out of it!". Any ideas would have come handy right now, only that Barnes had none; his only card left to play was to explain everything from his perspective, something he spoke the exact opposite of just minutes before.

Then again, was he willing to give this „promise" up for information that would - conclusively - let him sleep easy at night (only metaphorically, of course); was this worth it? What did he have to lose, his pride?

Presently, pride was worthless, equal to literally nothing in value.

\- Right, is it... Irvis? - inquired the ex-marshal, to which the mentioned owl answered by nodding - I... I need to apologise - the bird slightly tilted its head to the side, astounded by the sudden change of Markson's approach - We definitely got off the wrong foot here - he paused for a moment - Now, you wanted information about me. Fine, I will co-operate with you! - the owl suddenly became alert and curious again - My name... well, I will just keep that to myself for now; although, here is the part that will interest you, and that would be how I got here; to this... island, to be more exact.

\- I am listening - stated Irvis after Barnes spoke.

\- Now, I am, or, to be more precise, _was_ an air marshal; we, uh, serve on airplanes and keep all the passangers safe, but I will get back to this part later. What is important, that, before I was... „put" into this world, _your_ world, I was, and I am being fully honest here, seconds away from death; yet, I did not die, but, instead, I ended up here. Actually, no; down on the shore, or beach, or whatever you owls call it.

Irvis still listened, a concentration and attempt to make sense of what Markson was talking about was present on his face. Once again, he nodded, signalling Chris to carry on.

\- Later, your friend found me; I think, uh, he was Barn owl? I do not know the species so well - if he could have, Barnes would have clicked to help himself think; however, for obvious reasons, he was unable to - What was his name? Something old-fashioned, uh... Martin... Marthis...

\- Matthias - interrupted the owl - The one you have attacked and wounded after he healed you? - this was obviously to taunt Chris, to remind him that what he did was admittedly the ill choice of an action.

\- Yeah, him - Barnes could not help but notice that he suddenly started to refer to these owls as if they were people, using „he" instead of „it" now. On the other matter, he decided to ignore the taunt - I told him what I have told you now; well, more or less, as a fact - Chris paused, not entirely sure about how to carry on.

\- So what you are saying is that you are not from, uh... here? - asked Irvis with a minor hint of suspicion and disbelief in his tone - Then... where did you come from, if I may ask? Somewhere which is _far_ away from our known borders?

\- Boston, Massachussetts, although I doubt you have ever heard of it - stated Barnes, enjoying this minor advantage of his personal knowledge which Irvis clearly could not know.

\- „Boston"? - if owls would have had eyebrows, this one would have raised both of them - Interesting - he added, emotionless all the way through - Could you tell me your species?

Now this question striked on Markson unexpectedly; what kind of random change of a thought process was this? Apparently, Irvis instantenously decided to ask for an information that, on a large scale, was not connected to any other piece of information that Chris just gave away.

\- Uh, species... right - Barnes sighed and shook his head - I have not a clue, and I am being fully honest right now - he was beginning to lose patience; what or how much did it take for this owl to understand the quite clear fact that Markson was _obviously_ not from this... tree, kingdom, or whatever realm? - Look! - he grabbed the bird's attention - Just let me go, and I promise you that this will be the last time you will see me. I do not care if I cannot fly, I will walk if I have to for God's sake! - Barnes' nerves were starting to build up, slowly becoming more and more tense, ready to explode at any given moment - You are not going to find out anything more about me; I just told you everything _I_ know! What more is there to tell, and by whom? - Chris' voice level almost escalated into a shout - Again, all you need to do is look in the other direction for five minutes, way more easier than keeping me here, both of us being unable to figure out what is actually going on!

\- Wait a minute, just... just slow down there for a moment! - Irvis did a motion with his wings that resembled a human making a „stop" movement with hands - I am only a consultant, I am here to talk, not to release you! - the owl laughed, sounding partially unnatural, yet normal by doing this action - If you want anything like that, you will need to take it up with the High-Council.

„Another set of fantasy-story names; this is just simply wonderful!", thought Markson, gradually thinking that all these things happening around him were the signs of mental breakdown, an idea he abandoned _after_ the scene in the infirmary.

\- And how can I talk to this... „High-Council"? - even pronouncing it proved to be a challenge to Barnes, taking that he almost bursted out laughing while saying the name of this... council - Do I take a number, an appointment, or there are free times all day long? - however, he noticed a second after this previous sentence that Irvis probably did not understood the majority of it; anyway, it was a bit late to restructure the whole sentence now.

\- No, it consists of me taking you there; the council will hear you out, given that you tell them what you told me, and they will decide what we should do with you next.

\- Do you owls have executions? - Markson wanted to be sure that he was not walking towards imminent death with this; after all... his story did sounded inconvincing.

\- No; we, the Guardians, are more civilised than that - it seemed that Irvis was set aback by Chris' previous question; he probably did hit a metaphorical nerve there and then - In the worst case scenario, you would be just... kept under observation.

\- All that meaning...? - inquiried Barnes, clearly expecting the owl to finish off his sentence.

\- You would be allowed to walk around the Great Tree; if what you tell me is true, you could not fly away. Even if you could, you would have no idea where you would be. Then again, there is the likely possibility that, for the past twenty minutes, you were just a great liar; thus, to prevent you from... „escaping", the council would assign someone to be your „warden", if you may...

\- ...Yet, by „warden", you would mean a private stalker to guard me all day long, no? - questioned Chris in a pretended less-than-polite way.

\- You always somehow seem to find the more uncomfortable definition for words, do not you? - Irvis' attitude changed for a moment; up until now, he did not acted hostile for a second. But now, he was probably at the edge of „having enough" - Yes, that would be another way to put it.

Markson successfully achieved another minute of awkward and painful silence with his previous remark, but the owl needlessly broke it a good amount of moments after.

\- Anyway, definitions or no definitions; do you want me to arrange you a... - but he was interrupted. However, not by Barnes.

An owl squeezed itself through the guards, and into the hollow it came; albeit Chris had not a single idea of what species he or she was from, the ex-marshal could easily identify that it was very similar to him in many ways, yet very different in many other ways: the same mix and combination of the colours was present, the wings and body all appeared to be roughly the same size (maybe a bit larger even, if Chris was recalling his biology lessons accurately).

The unknown owl did not even take a glance at Markson; it just handed a parchment-like object over to Irvis, who swiftly thanked the owl, which, in a matter of seconds, exited the hollow; as quick as it came, as quick as it went.

While reading the piece of paper, Irvis did put on some rather unpleasant and outright expressions, grimly following each (probable) sentence.

After a matter of an aprroximate minute, the owl (the one we know) spoke.

\- I am afraid your listening will require a re-schedule! - he turned around and rushed out from the hollow, now only being barely visible between the two guards - Something more important has emerged; I should be back by tomorrow - he was about to fly off, but he turned around once again - If not, well... Trust me, you will not starve to death! - conclusive to this, Irvis flew out of his sight.

By summing up the previous thirty minutes, Markson could not actually see the point this „interrogation" had; neither of the sides found out anything more than what they had already knew. Both Barnes _and_ Irvis did not answered most pf each other's questions, this whole conversation ending up as a loose end in Chris' opinion.

But then, here he was alone, again, still in an unknown and undiscovered environment, surrounded by intelligent and physically capable owls. Admitedly, his day could not have been better.

Only now Markson began to notice how exhausted he was; unconsciousness or not, sedation or not, Barnes was _mentally_ tired. He did not care how, but he required some sleep right now, no matter what would attempt to stop him; apparently, nothing wished to prevent him so far, and he had the feeling that nothing will do in the future.

Although Chris could have admitedly used some sleep, there was still one so unimportant, yet so significant question that - he noticed only now - restrained him from sleep; and this single practical question was the following: how did owls sleep?


	7. Noctuam Non Grata

**I cannot help but repeat myself: took me long enough.  
Now, yes, this chapter did take its time of development (and is hopefully enjoyable); now do mind that I am still a student, and, occasionally, lots of my time is consumed by school. Nevertheless, I am trying my best to keep up with my deadlines, please do not hate me for not doing so sometimes.  
Even though it might seem like that I abandoned this whole thing, I can confidently say that I did not; it just sometimes... slows down.  
Anyway, let us just get on with the chapter itself.**

_**I do not own the Guardians of Ga'Hoole series.  
****I take Christopher Markson, Irvis, Byran, and Valery as my own characters and creations.  
The Federal Air Marshal Service and the Transportation Security Administration are not my creations.**_

Noctuam Non Grata

_The Great Ga'Hoole Tree, Southern-Kingdoms_

_Close to 9:00 p.m._

_Christopher Barnes Markson, ex-TSA_

Markson managed to have a quite rough, but a nonetheless head-clearing sleep of approximately three hours; Chris was not entirely sure, it could have been a bit more than that. Nothing changed in the hollow during this period of time, the only proof that the day went on while he slept was that the light - which was already rather minimal three hours ago - was being reduced to the faint shine of the moon; a very thin sliver of the silver light managed to creep into the hollow, but this amount was, surprisingly, perfectly enough and fitting for Markson to see.

Then, after a minute of thought-arranging, Chris figured out that the conditions of the visibility were not about the quantity of this limited brightness, but of what appeared to be himself. This time though, it only took Barnes a second to realise this, and his memories rapidly kicked in: it came to him how the ocular structure of owls was astonishingly advanced on the field of night-vision, earning them the advantage to be able to hunt and live in the night time with unhindered sight. The only back-drop was that their eyes did not move in their sockets, granting a minor, yet considerably significant detriment in this field of their anatomy.

Of course, Markson was entirely able to experience this first-hand, as he was in a dark environment now, but, despite this fact, he considered the current level of visibility the same as if the ongoing moment was taking place during the day; everything (mostly the inside of the trunk, as that was what he could really see) was sharper than usual, with every bit of detail, be it the most littlest thing, seeming as clear in this night as it would in sunlight.

Howbeit, the feeling of not being capable of moving his own eyes was quite a... bizarre sensation to Chris; it was almost as if someone had glued his eyeballs in their sockets, or if some type of indescribable force was holding these optical organs in this fixed position. Nevertheless, Barnes would definitely have been unable to verbally epitomize or explicate how not being physically capable of eye movement has felt; it was one of those experiences one needed to live through to totally understand. This was, irrefutably, inexplicable.

Yet, these matters should be temporarily put aside by Markson; no doubt, they were thought-provoking and fascinating, there was an entirely different task for Chris to focus on.

What was important now was that he was, at least, able to get a little shuteye, which partially changed his ideas and plans about his current position, and our ex-marshal here and now made the decision of being co-operative in the future; after all, this was the only _possible_ way he could find out anything useful, and, maybe, his only chance to earn - at least - a minimal amount of freedom.

He realised that he viewed everything from the wrong side: for the past six hours, everyone, including both Irvis and Matthias, were either helping, or looking for his collaboration, not aiming to be hostile in the process. The only person who was unwelcoming was Markson himself, although he was only beginning to understand this now, at a time way past the acceptable limit of recognition.

Barnes will tell them everything they want to know, for his own and for others' sake, so the two sides, with different informations and theories, could extrapolate a solution for this (as Markson viewed it) problem.

However, Chris was not preparing to wait for someone to come for him, especially not Irvis, who was apparently going to take a day, possibly more time to arrive; if he desired to speak with an owl, the ex-marshal will be required to devise a way to do that.

Using the „great" power of improvisation, he raised his voice, and aimed a request at one of the guards, who were still standing in their doubtlessly boring position; the same spot they were at three hours ago.

\- Excuse me! - no reaction from the two, this already beginning to create a needlessly awkward situation. To increase his chances of getting attention, Markson raised his voice even more - Excuse me! - the owl on the right turned its head around, now focusing on Chris with its two amber eyes. If Barnes would have been forced to take a guess at its species, he would have reckoned that this was a... Horned owl of some kind, if the „Biology 101" was coming back to him correctly.

\- Yes? - asked the owl in a neutral tone, not being hostile, nor sympathetic in the process. Determining from the spoken voice, Chris concluded that this bird was a male; again, Markson had not a clue _how_ exactly he managed to make this deduction, although there was the fact that, for some unknown reason, the voices of these owls sounded _precisely_ identical to a human's. After that, it was actually an easy task to figure this out, but the fact was still there: how on Earth could they have sounded like humans?

Anyhow, Markson put his thoughts back on track, and proceeded to ask his significant question:

\- I was wondering if there was someone else I could speak, or, consult with - he began cautiously, although he could not spot any emotional change or a sign of unintended reaction on the owls face; ergo, he carried on - Well, as long as this Irvis guy comes back from his leave, at least! - the owl on the left, quite abruptly, but exchanged a glance with the one already looking at Markson. The male owl on the right signaled him with a serious look to calm down.

\- Why would you wish to talk _now_? - asked the owl on the right with a hint of disbelief in his voice, greatly emphasised, no doubt - If I recall correctly, you were not too keen on talking much a few hours ago!

This did stopped Chris for a moment. He could not just go ahead and explain his change of viewpoints, which have changed only because his head was cleared out by a short sleep! For that, he would only be laughed at, not believed.

\- Well, you see, I changed my mind! - indeed, sometimes the best option was the simplest explanation - And I am thinking of choosing to stay silent again if you do not get me someone to talk to in a few minutes! - psychological warfare? Perhaps; Barnes did not really used it that much beforehand, but experimenting around could not hurt at all - I am sure that some in your „council" would be disappointed to find out that you two had wasted a clear opportunity to obtain information from your captive! - another exchange of glances was made by the two owls, then the one on the right spoke an answer.

\- If you would be willing to speak now, you will be able to speak when Corporal Irvis comes back! - Chris _did not_ expected an answer of this kind - If you decide to not speak when the Corporal arrives, well... you will be only digging a hole for yourself! You will stay in this very hollow until you speak, so not talking later on would only be a waste of time! - although the owl had a point, there was a major hole in his idea.

\- What you are telling me, I must admit, is true; however, you are the one wasting time right now! - speaking this, Markson made the owl on the right to change his facial expression; the bird now looked challenging, and was ostensibly about to retaliate. He would have spoken in the next second, but Barnes was quicker to react - I am voluntarily offering my help, and you are _actually_ declining it? I thought you wanted to know everything about me as soon as possible!

\- _I_ am wasting time? - seemingly the owl was still at the earlier section of Chris' former speech - I... I was not the one refusing to speak hours ago!

There was the point Markson was waiting for; if not already obvious, this owl was repeating his preceding idea, clearly showing that, for some reason, this bird was _intentionally_ avoiding to give Chris what he wanted. He was stalling, but, then again, that is wasting time. Was not that what these birds were aiming to avoid in the first place?

The motive was something else here, this owl was not, without a single trace of doubt, acting out from logic.

\- Surely, there must be someone else on this damn tree that I could „consult" with! If I want to talk, why are you holding me back? - eventually, the owl will need to recognise that whatever intention he was wasting time for could no longer be hidden under his lie.

\- Oh, I can assure you that I am only following my orders, strictly given to me by... - he suddenly cut his sentence there, then slowly carried on - Then again, why should you know my superior's name?

„Yeah, I am totally sure _you_ know!", thought Barnes, „It is becoming rather obvious that you have something else on your mind!".

\- What orders! - blurted out Chris, maybe a bit louder than it should have been - Did your „higher-ups" told you to not let your prisoner give you your desired information? - Markson spotted that the owl was growing quite furious, as he began to „puff up" his feathers (if Barnes recalled correctly, this had something to do with intimidation); albeit the possibility of dangers, this did not bothered the ex-marshal, not even at the lowest level of caring. To force the truth out of this bird, Markson was required to make the its own actions and words less logical by verbal irritation.

For the time being, it was, more or less, working.

\- _No_, I was given the order to wait for Corporal Irvis to arrive back here, as I do not have the liberty to appoint a „fill-in" consultant... - Chris has heard enough, and decided to start interfering; after all, he wished to speed the events up a bit.

\- Do you have a name, owl? - the bird paused, not clear or sure on how to answer this question (despite its simplicity) - Given that you have the „clearance" to share that! - he added for a taunt.

\- Byran - said the owl simply and plainly - Do you?

\- I have a name, but you do not necessarily need to know it! - said Barnes sharply, once again dodging the question that some already asked in the past hours. Of course, their inquiries were kept unanswered - Now, you see, Byran, it occurred to me that you are not capable of giving me more than one reason for why I should not be allowed to consult with someone who is not Irvis. From this, I can only conclude that you are either not very smart, or that you have something emotional behind your little... bluff - Chris was not entirely sure, but he thought that he saw Byran shaking for a few seconds - I can assure you that I am not going to sit here like an idiot and wait for who knows how long for one owl to come back to this tree! - Barnes found this point of time fit to change his tone, giving it a minor hostility - Now, I will ask you _once_ again, kindly, in fact, just to be sure that you understand it!

\- Oh, I am definite that I can understand it! - Byran managed to squeeze this sentence in the period of Markson's short pause; while doing so, he also bent his head to the side, appearing ready to attack Chris at any given moment. Yet, nothing of a similar caliber has happened.

\- Get me someone I can consult with, _Byran_. This is the _final_ time I am asking politely.

For a moment, Markson was concerned about his own safety, as he was convinced that Byran would jump at him and do whatever an owl did in a physical battle. Then again, nothing even close to that occured; the only action the bird kept doing was giving Barnes a stare that, if it could have, would have undoubtedly killed Chris.

The owl on the left, his name currently unknown, was watching the previous few minutes tensely; he kept staring at Barnes and Byran, changing from one to the other periodically.

But now, Byran turned to him, and spoke in a voice that was shaking from anger:

\- Ruben - his voice was alarmingly quiet - Go up to any one of the chaws, and fetch me _any_ owl who is currently free of their duties! Do it before I _question_ our prisoner here! - Ruben was not moving; he appeared to be in a bit of a shock that Byran has spoken to him - Go, and do it now! - this was shouted, undeniably getting Ruben up to speed, as he almost physically jumped in his fright. After a few seconds, he was gone from the hollow's opening.

Now, it was only Markson and Byran left.

\- I thought you do not have the liberty! - taunted Chris, which, to be honest, he should not really have, considering the current mood of his warden.

\- That I have; it is patience I do not have for you anymore - stated the owl, practically spitting our the words - This conversation is over, do you understand?

\- Whatever you say... - turned away Markson, half-suspecting that Byran will jump at him in a moment's notice if he did not check behind his back - You have the liberty... - said Chris loud enough for Byran to hear.

No response came, and the hollow once again turned into a prime example of perfect silence, allowing Barnes to reflect on his personal achievement.

At least he managed to place the natural course of events on the way they were supposed to be _before_ a specific owl interfered and attempted to change that course; then again, Markson could have avoided all this by simply answering to Irvis' questions when he first stated them.

How peculiar this was; every time, all the threads of difficulties and obstacles were, in origin, caused by Chris himself. Even if he had wished to, he could not have blamed anyone else for these complications he ran into. He already done the faulty deeds; he was lucky that he still had the chance to correct them.

„Let us just hope that this is not a hoax by this Byran", thought Barnes, „Just play this smart now, and you will be out from here in no time. Well, hopefully: who knows how long you will stay here!", then, with a more annoyed tone in his head, he added: „Who knows how long you are going to be an owl".

Precisely at the end of that thought, an owl, roughly the same size of Markson, its feathers being a streaked tawny-brown, and eyes having a yellow and orange tinge of colour; from an unexpected and instinctive sensation, Barnes realised that the freshly arrived owl was a female; Chris had no rational idea or explanation on how this could have possibly occurred. Of what little he knew about birds, telling the two genders apart would have been the last thing Markson would have been able to accomplish; it, straightforwardly, just would not happen.

Yet, here and now, Barnes just naturally knew; he had not a clue on the _how_, neither on the _why_. Another unexplainable answer to be inscribed on Markson's imaginary list, already nearing a level of overflow.

The female owl leaned inside the hollow Barnes was kept in, taking a thorough look at him, narrowing her eyes at the ex-marshal; after the owl finished the examination, which took her a few, short seconds, she backed out from the hollow, onto the wooden platform that Chris only noticed now; the hand-craft (or, presumably, „talon-craft"), surprisingly stable- and accurate-looking in its structure, was, as much as Markson could tell, somehow fixed or planted onto the main base of this specific, relatively massive and thick branch, emerging from the whole of the tree itself.

From common sense, Barnes concluded that this little invention was created to ease travelling on foot for these owls, given that they wished to not fly somewhere. One was undeniable: Markson himself will be unquestionably in the need of these wooden structures for... well, obvious reasons; given that, of course, he would manage to achieve his own release.

The female owl now turned to Byran, who took great care to not establish eye contact or to not take a single glance at Chris.

\- Did you question him? - she asked, the tone of her voice managing to sound fair and strict at the same time. Barnes just realised that he found her quite sympathetic, despite the short amount of time he saw and heard her for; abruptly, Markson felt quite intrigued and eager to know her name.

Not to flirt or anything else that was susceptible; just to settle the basic manners.

\- He did not wanted to co-operate - Byran replied casually, however, Markson had different feeling at that moment, almost shouting out at the owls response; what he said was clearly a lie.

Chris did not originally planned on it, but now felt that this was the perfect moment to join into the conversation; if anything, it would earn him the advantage of the spoken truth anyway.

\- Excuse me for interrupting your colleague - began Barnes, making sure to keep a constantly flowing politeness this time, hoping to improve his chances of the current situation; on the last occasion, he did not quite attempted that, earning him a few other problems, now added to the rest - But I want to state that in the last thirty minutes, I was trying to convince him to question me! - here, Markson gestured towards Byran, who was now staring directly at him, alarm and dislike radiating from his eyes; Chris called in his bluff, which will, no doubt, change the course of this conversation - Also, by my knowledge, that is the reason of why you are here, lady - since Barnes could not possibly have imagined, nor did he have an idea on how owls addressed each other, he just, simply, settled on the decision of „lady".

\- Is this true, Byran? - asked the female owl from the warden, suspicion and confusion somehow mixing in her voice; she was smart, she was able to catch out the lies and the truth. Something Markson was also easily capable of.

It was obvious though that Byran himself did not aimed to answer; even if he will do now, it would most assuredly be something focusing on his own advantage.

\- Partially, yes... - started the owl - I tried to convince him to talk, but...

\- Uh, no - interrupted Barnes, attracting another intimidating look from Byran - I wanted to talk, it was him who... - but Markson's warden prevented him from finishing; the bird, apparently, gave up with the continuous attempt of concealing his real feelings.

\- Another word, and I swear that I will...! - it seemed like for the heat of the moment that Byran will lunge at Chris; it was hard to determine if he halted his intentions for the sake of common sense and self-containment, or because the female owl ordered so.

\- Hey! - she shouted at Byran; not too harshly, but strictly enough to tell him that she meant it seriously - Let him speak.

The warden looked at her, perplexed, disbelief sitting on his face.

\- You cannot seriously say that you are... - he attempted to resurface to a decent position in the conversation, but it was too late for that now. It was the female owl who was in the lead at the current time.

\- Let him speak - she repeated her own, previous words, an authoritative tone clearly noticeable in her voice. She turned to Markson, who understood this as a sign for him to carry on.

\- Thank you - Barnes said with honest and polite gratitude, nodding towards her - Now, as I way saying, I attempted to tell Byran here what I previously decided to keep for myself. But, by now, I came to the conclusion that collaboration is a better choice than its opposite - the female owl was focused, carefully interpreting every word that came out from Chris' mouth; well, his beak, to be perfectly precise - I am willing to tell you everything I know, although, with one condition only.

The female owl nodded, yet, before Markson was able to continue, it turned out that Byran was already ahead of him; again, he was attempting to regain his position in the situation.

\- Come on, he is a prisoner! - spoke the warden, not even trying to hide his annoyance - What level of right does he have to... - here, the female owl turned her head, and moved her gaze on Byran; needless to say, he halted his speech at that instant, and Chris could have sworn that his feathers laid down a bit, creating the visual illusion that appeared like as if the warden has just shrunk a bit.

\- Holding grudges is not really helpful, Byran! - she declared, her voice now sounded minorly frustrated - Shutting up is, so, please, be a pleasure, and hold your beak!

Byran barely dared to raise his head, even when he did, it was towards Markson; the ex-marshal identified that as a death-threat, but did not take that much of a caring notice.

\- What would this condition be? - requested the female owl, now having her eyes on Barnes again; Chris could see something fascinating in them, but he swiftly dismissed this idea.

Inter-species relationships were not the smartest schemes, although this statement seemed rather ironic to Markson, taking his current physical shape. Then again, he was not in love, and he was not fancying this owl; „Not a single bit!", he kept telling his own self.

\- If I talk, I want to do that _only_ with one owl, and preferably outside this hollow - judging from the female owl's reaction (which was, literally, no movement at all), there was a slight chance that she was reconsidering Chris' solicitation - I know that is a hard ask, granted that I am still a prisoner, but I believe this hollow might have just given me a minor claustrophobia - Barnes only said this as a vain attempt to lighten the mood up a little bit.

However, the last word, seemingly, kicked the female owl out from reconsideration, and she now asked a question, awaiting a possible answer from Markson.

\- Sorry, _clostro_-what? - this time, she sounded completely lost; it was obvious that she did not managed to recognise the spoken word.

\- Claustrophobia - Barnes reiterated the word in an awkward manner, not entirely sure himself why this term appeared so alien for the bird - Uh... the fear of enclosed spaces? No? - the female owl slowly shook her head, giving off some type of smile (which, just for the record, Chris believed to be physically impossible), or, at least, an expression that Markson now, in this form, interpreted as a smile; essentially, it was the minor change in the owl's facial expressions, nothing massive though. Otherwise, it would have been hardly noticeable.

\- I have never heard about such a thing before - she answered, now sounding a bit uninterested about the word.

The female owl waited for a second, then nodded towards Byran, who, Chris could have sworn on his life, gave out a painful sigh, shook his head, then took off, descending into the dark night. Meanwhile, the she began to walk away from the hollow that served as a cell for Markson. Albeit, not before long, the bird ended her walk, and looked back at Barnes.

He was still standing in the hollow, quite aim- and helplessly, wondering what the past seconds meant. Was he to follow this owl, or did she just replaced Byran as a warden?

Apparently, it was the former, as she now proclaimed her idea.

\- Are you coming or not? - she stated this question, and Markson instantly recognised what she wanted; nevertheless, the ex-marshal still had one question; however, if he wanted it to be answered, he was required to hurry, as the female owl started to walk again.

\- Where are we going? - asked Chris, unintentionally placing more suspicion into his sentence than originally planned.

\- We are taking a trip to a friend that might be able to answer a few questions - answered the bird, stopping in her tracks while she turned back towards Barnes, facing him once again - You said you wanted to be out from that hollow, did not you?

\- Yes, but... I did not expected this - said Barnes, sounding slightly disoriented - Well, after Byran, of course...

\- Can you fly? - inquired the bird, putting Markson in an uncomfortable position for the second time now; how stupid „no" must have sounded like!

\- Uh... no - answered the ex-marshal in a rather embarrassed style, sensing that his last thought came to be what he expected it to be; on the other hand though, Chris felt lucky that owls were unable to blush.

\- Well, that is an inconvenience - stated the female owl plainly, not seeming to mind this disruptive obstacle too much - Then I take that we will walk.

\- I take we will - Barnes acknowledged and strengthened the previous words of the owl, and began to concentrate on yet another problem that arose; walking with talons. This was not something he was taught anywhere, as a normal person would never have had the chance or opportunity to experience this.

But then again, trouble never really avoided him for his whole life and career.

For now, all he was doing was taking steps one by one, carefully planning out each move he took. The owl was definitely watching this, Markson had no doubt on that matter; even then, he just decided to avoid eye contact. Things were already awkward and uncomfortable enough.

Chris followed the bird, who now took a turn to the left, leading to what appeared to be some type of passageway; another trunk, resembling a long and twisting corridor, ascending into the - supposed - upper sections of the tree.

Presumably, the owl noticed that Markson had difficulties walking, which she, without any motional or verbal comment, responded to by slowing down her pace.

As Chris caught up, she began to speak again, marking the beginning point of Barnes' questioning; sooner would have been much more simpler, although, Markson, admittedly, did not use that type of logic a few hours ago.

\- Do you have a name? - inquired the bird, now, between the two of them, sounding considerably more casual and pleasant; the way she spoke with when Byran was present was, indeed, strict, and quite solid.

\- Yes, I do - answered Chris, however, he still planned on evasion when it came to his name; shortly, the ex-marshal would just, simply, keep to his anonymous way, and keep his name unknown - Do you?

As a response to this question, the female owl gave out that weird, sharp and whirring sound, the one Barnes was definitely sure he had heard before; back in the infirmary, from one of those owls, probably Matthias. The one he almost killed.

Nevertheless, the bird also gave a verbal remark when she finished her... chuckle.

\- I see you are good with words! - she said, turning her head towards Markson, who has now did the same, once again distracted and lost in the owl's amber eyes; Chris was sure that he could see that smiling facial expression again; from this, Barnes calmly assumed, without a trace of doubt, that he did not offended. Unavoidably though, the moment passed, and the bird turned her head to face towards her front again - No wonder you managed to frink of Byran this easily!

„Frinked?", thought Chris, „What is that supposed to be, some owl-dictionary specific word?"; only if he could have known the irony of this idea.

\- Anyway, no matter; let us get back to our original topic! - she offered, however, in the way that is not meant to give away any selectable options; what she said was going to happen - I was only asking for you name so that others may call you by it; just... something to be clear on .

By the end of this sentence, they were both well-inside the main structure or body of the tree (from a techinal perspective, that is), now ascending on a passageway that has, markedly, made Barnes think of lighted up tunnels; the only difference being presently was the absence of electronic lamps and other, miscellaneous lighting hardwares; only a type of oily-looking substance, steadily burning with a regular-sized light-orange flame, creating a decent level of visibility in the - now only refered to as by Markson - corridor.

\- Oh, I can assure you, I know why my name matters to others! - answered Chris after a short time of planning and reconsideration - I am just not at the level of trust where I would wish to share this information - this was, more or less, actually true; however, if Barnes would have been required to honestly devise _another_ rational-sounding reason, he could not have, not even if his life was on the line. Maybe it was the still lingering confusion and minor disbelief, essentially, the aftershock of everything that has happened so far; then again, Markson did not acted or felt like any of the previous for the past hours. He perceived everything as if they were just... normal and usual.

\- Fair enough for me! - stated the owl shortly after Chris' explanation of anonymousness. In her speach's second section though, she suceeded in an unbelievably demanding, almost impossible task: she managed to catch Barnes off-guard. This, she achieved by the following - The precious few who know about you already gave you a name of their own creation anyway.

„Name? What name?", wondered Markson with both a slight anger and curiousness, barely managing on keeping these thoughts thoughts, almost asking them loudly from the owl.

As Markson now took a quick glance around, he realised that their environment has, in a fairly noticeable fashion, changed; to the right, there was a quite massive gap in the tree's branch, allowing the ex-marshal to look and see the outside world: a seemingly endless ocean, somewhat still, but clearly familiar with many storms; next, he raised his head, glimpsing at the cloudless night sky, the stars shining, unobstructed in their luminous states. Chris himself never saw these celestial bodies as brightly as they were now.

To finish his glancing-around, he decided to look downwards, which, in a matter of seconds, turned out to be a horrible idea; Markson knew that they were walking upwards for quite a while, but he did not expected that in five minutes they would achieve such a climb!

Earthward, there was at least a twenty meter drop, which - taking that he was currently an owl - was quite worrying. As a reflex reaction to this, Barnes threw himself into the neighbouring side of the corridor, the one that, luckily, was free of holes and gaps.

For the duration of this action, the owl stopped, and looked questioningly at Markson.

\- Is something wrong? - she asked, worry and alarm merging in her voice; she was looking at the front, so she could not possibly have seen what jsut happened with Barnes.

\- Just... I am still a bit dizzy - lied Chris, attempting to conceal his sudden shock and fear; in a relative approach, we could say that he attained the positive outcome - It is fine, let us just carry on! - he showed strength, although was not entirely sure if this outcome was good or bad.

The owl just shrugged (Markson was not entirely clear on what this has meant), then silently signaled Barnes to follow; and so he did as they proceeded, now going mostly straight, but occasionally ascending or descending.

By now, it hit Chris unexpected, as the female owl returned to their previous topic in their conversation.

\- About that name I have just mentioned... - she began cautiously, speaking like an extremely skilled actress - So that _precious few_ have gave you temporary name of „Silverbeak"; taking that your species appear to have a, uh... uniquely distinguishable beak. To be honest - she turned her head to the ex-marshal again - I do find it fitting, hence the... well, you know.

And Markson did knew, yet, he had different speculations which kept racing on in his head.

„Really? Really", he thought, „Could not that _precious few_ have chosen a better name? Something less laughable?".

The only mistake Barnes did was that he did not considered a single specific rule here: different groups of beings interpret things in their own personal, different way, largely altering of others', causing the diversity that can be easily compressed into the standalone word „cultures".

By continuing on with this thought, Markson came to the realisation and conclusion that, maybe, it was time for him to start taking everything around himself seriously; after all, he was in a „new", currently undiscovered and different world now. He should aim on the interpretation and study of his surrounding, not to parodise them!

Consequently to this, an idea began to form itself in Chris' brain, being fully worked out and devised in the quick succession of a mere four seconds.

\- Are you able to tell, what species am I from? - the main core of this plan was conveniently simple: by his current knowledge (which was pretty much, literally, _nothing_), Barnes was able to tell that he was, presumably, „stuck" in this... form of being for a good while. It would have been calming to know, at least, in a well-described and detailed style, of _what_ he actually was.

Of course, to the owl, this question could either have sounded like an average and general inquiry, or a self-confident challenge; whichever way, there should not be any negative consequences or repercussions for his innocent seeking of knowledge.

\- Well... - the owl, once more, looked at Chris, now deeply studying his face - Definitely a type of _Strix_, but I have to admit, I have never seen anyone like you before - then, she changed her tone in a slight way - Why are you asking this? - the new intonation sounded confused and puzzled; next to that, the owl still kept her gaze on Markson's face.

\- No specific reason - stated Chris simply, ensuring that he will not, even by mistake, establish eye contact.

Barnes lost focus on such a level that he did not even realise that they had, finally, reached the end of the „corridor", and were now standing on one end of a considerably large... something.

Markson obviously did not knew what it was, albeit it gave him the impression of a city's main square; the previously seen and used wooden planks were present, outcropping at least two meters from the foundation, which, in this case, was a surprisingly even-grounded combination of multiple enormous branches, their unequal formations and holes between them also made fully horizontal by the same wooden planks. There were a few other owls standing around, apparently having conversations of their own, personal matters; others were just merely doing the same that Chris and his guide were carrying out, walking from one end to the other, eventually disappearing in another one of those „corridors". However, most were, expectedly, using their wings - as birds typically do - to get from A to B. Now that Markson came to think of it, what he now glanced upon was, in fact, absolutely fascinating.

\- Can I ask what this place is? - inquired Chris; albeit the fact that the ex-marshal himself failed to notice, his beak was now dropped open, as if a human was looking in wonder at something, open-mouthed from the sudden astonishment.

\- We do not really have a specific name for it, but this is the main point of meeting and socialisation of the Tree; most are found here, if not flying around or reading in the library, in their own time - she paused as she embarked on a short pondering „journey" - I guess you could call it the „Grand Terrace"! - spoke the owl, her exclamation deliberately sounding offering.

\- Yeah, I guess you could - Markson was still awestruck, only managing to process the last part of what the bird has just said; ultimately, he was looking upon a socially and intellectually advanced species right here and now; how come the _whole_ world has not managed to discover them before?

The only logical explanation for this was that he was, indeed, _inside_ that book Anna gave him. Yet, then again, that was impossible and just simply unthinkable; even physical metamorphosis, the _likely_ thing that had happened to Chris, was more believable than the idea of this being _actually_ in a book right at this very moment.

\- Come on, we still have a few to see! - hurried the female owl, already at least a meter ahead of Chris (which, in the current situation, was a considerable distance).

As Markson walked on, he managed to, unintentionally - well, _partially_ unintentionally - catch out snippets of conversations that were going on between all the owls present; if the ex-marshal would have needed to estimate a number, he would have settled with three dozen, so, roughly thirty-six birds at the „Grand Terrace".

To the left, Chris could overhear as a male owl - whose species seemed extensively similar to his female guide's, the only difference here being was the slightly darker eyes and ear-tufts - of a creamy-brown colour talked to a Barn owl (probably one of the only species Markson was still able to recognise and name by its official designation); the topic the two birds were discussing was, however, unknown to Barnes, and he suspected that, even if he would have sufficiently understood every single word, he could still not possibly have recognised or understood the matter of the conversation.

Yet, what he could hear might prove to be useful later, and could still bear a considerable level of importance - or not; regardless to the latter, it was still more advantageous and beneficial to act now than to be sorry later; some chances had to be taken, and Chris was a person of opportunities.

When he began to listen in on the two owls' conversation, it was the Barn owl who was in the middle of his speech.

\- ...What about the Graymarsh-Incident, or the Ambala-Kidnappings? Do not you think that they have a connection to these? - once again, Barnes was, by some reflex-like means, capable to determine and to clarify the gender of the bird, merely from its voice, which, in this case, was a male's; in his tone, he appeared... rather enthusiastic and fervent. Just like one who has been captivated by the ideas of various conspiracy-theories.

His associate, the creamy-brown owl, made a hopeless face and shook his head (Chris has already decided upon the bird's gender, swiftly concluding that this owl belonged to the category of „male"), deeply exhaling in the meanwhile of his physical motions; from a minimal analysis, Markson theorised that the creamy-brown owl was either referring in thoughts to his acquaintance as a fool, or was just simply in the possession of stronger and more evident facts.

As it turned out a moment after, it was the latter:

\- You know very well, Landon, that we have not heard from the Middle-Kingdom for quite a while now, possibly since the death of Prince Barion - seeing that his friend, the Barn owl, was about to interrupt, this owl quickly proceeded, and carried on - I have also discussed with you why we have never sent anyone to scout around in their territories.

\- I do not recall - replied the Barn owl, honesty ringing in his voice.

\- Well, you consumed a rather _large_ amount of bingle-juice at that evening as well, so... - unfortunately, this was as far as Markson could overhear them for, as he, along with his female companion, was now out of auditory range.

Regardless, literally a second later, Barnes' ears (or, more precisely, ear-holes) caught another collection of sentences; turning his head to the right, Chris saw another small group of owls, although these were not standing around the terrace; instead, they were perched on a branch that was protruding outwards with its end, arching over the small land and the inversely proportional ocean that was spreading out far into the distance below.

Markson was, however, unable to properly identify the two owls' species; the one on the left was massive and considerably tall though - that much he could tell. It also had a grey plumage, that was the only other useful detail Chris was able to highlight.

To this owl's right, there was - from the past memories of university studies Barnes has managed to dig out from the deeper and almost abandoned sections of his brain - a Spotted owl; this idea now seemed laughably obvious to the ex-marshal, seeing all the dark-brown spots on the bird's feathers.

\- Are you not going to transfer then? - asked the Spotted owl from the grey owl, not having any special or outstanding tone; she (Barnes succeeded in the identification of the gender in the fragment of the given moment) was just stating a regular question.

\- Nah, I don't think so! - answered the grey owl, now evidently a male - There is not one vacant place in Tyto, and I would rather move to the Northern-Kingdoms than to the Shadow Forest! - from that, Chris did not got a word that he could have made sense of, but this did not worried him; not like his life have been depending on this one sentence.

\- What about the Ambalan-Legion? - asked the Spotted owl again - They always have plenty of vacancies; you could try there! - offered the female, but she was turned down once again.

\- The Legionnaires? Thanks for the offer, but I would pass, even if they had wanted to recruit me! - a hint of disgust and rejection could be detected in the grey owl's tone, although this did not shared the context with Barnes - You can never be sure if they want to help you or not!

Precisely three seconds after the latter owl finished his sentence, Chris' female guide took a turn to the left, now heading towards another opening in one of the thick branches; „Another _corridor_, I guess!", thought Markson as attempted to roll his eyes, but realised that he, well, was not physically able to.

It was then that the owl finally broke the silence and began to ask questions.

\- A few words have spread around the Tree about you, and I was thinking if I could ask... - she left her sentence to float around the area with an ellipse, suggesting (rather obviously, to be fair) that she was not finished yet - Where did you come from, and how did you get here? - Barnes was about to answer, but the owl complemented some more to her sentence - I mean, we do not have many owls _randomly_ washing up on this shore you know! - she said in an awkward manner, making Barnes chuckle inside; nevertheless, he did not showed any physical emotion though.

\- Do the words „Massachussetts" or „Atlantic-Ocean" mean anything to you? - as a response to this question, the owl shook its head, which made Chris smile (with his beak, somehow) - Then this will sound a bit more unbelievable! - he cleared his throat as a habit, then carried on - I am, or, _was_, an agent of the Transportation Security Administration, an air marshal to be exact; I will not go into that further, otherwise this explanation could take days - he looked at the owl while saying this, who nodded, gesturing to Markson to carry on talking.

\- It was an _extremely_ stormy night, and it happened about two days ago; I was in this... craft, called an airplane - confusion settled on the bird's face, so Chris backed up his previous statement with a small statement of information - The important point here is that it is something that flies, like birds, but... a bit differently. Now, there were lightnings, a worrying amount of them, and one of them... - the ex-marshal was genuinely struggling with this explanation, and he needed a small amount of time to place his thoughts together, construct comprehensible sentences, then pronounce them - One of them fried the whole craft, and it started to lose altitude; I , uh... just want to note that these explode when they hit the ground. Uh... do you know what an explosion is?

\- When something explodes - she stated sarcastically, then changed to an annoyed tone of voice - I am not daft, you know!

\- Yeah, I just wanted to make sure - Chris tried to dig himself out of this hole, but, admitedly, it did not appeared to be working - Anyway, the airplane was supposed to crash, _I_ was supposed to die when it did! - although he did not directly noticed, but Markson, all the while being unaware of it, just raised his voice's volume with a significant level.

\- And yet, here I am! - he carried on simplistically, just as if the past words were not even spoken out loud by him - I am _not_ from this place; I do not exactly know where I am. Mind you, I have been told plenty of times by now, but that does not changes the fact that, beforehand, I have never even heards of this place! - he waved his left wing in a motion that was supposed to emphasize the „_this place_" part.

For the next two minutes, the female owl did not gave a single sign of _any_ response; she just kept staring in a downwards angle, but still following her (possibly) predefined path, occasionally taking a turn to either the left, or the right in this snaking passageway they were walking through.

After her long silence, the owl finally spoke, giving Markson a sense of relief, while he was still hoping that, in her eyes, he was still classed as mentally sane; as from the story he had just told this bird did leave a quite... hard-to-believe impression.

Then, unexpectedly, she stopped; the owl just, simply, halted her pace, making Chris believe that what he had said just reached the bird, and the sudden flow of information was the cause of her abrupt freeze. Yet, the answer was more simpler than that.

They have arrived at their „destination"; when the owl said that she was taking Markson to _someone_ that might be able to answer a few questions, she did not bluffed. From what Barnes could tell, this was an owl's hollow, although it appeared to have another entrance - or exit - at its far end; that hole, though, opened towards the outside, Chris was able to tell this from the crashing waves he thought he could see in the distance, and the few branches that reached into the view.

The occupant of the hollow could not be seen, that owl was probably blocked out from visual range by the irregular shape of the... place.

The female owl turned to Markson again, who, now appearing perfectly fine, was not showing any sign of disbelief or mistrust towards the ex-marshal. What was more that she began to speak again:

\- Well, thank you for your cooperation; believe it or not, this might help a lot later! - showed the female owl her appreciation with words, then went onto another topic - This is the hollow I have mentioned; the owl living here is a... well, let us say researcher, that fits about right - she said, not taking her eyes of Barnes for a second, which, after a specific „line in the sand", became rather discomforting - He keeps himself to himself, but I am sure that he will help you - the owl sighed, looked to her right, then turned back to Chris, and carried on - I will be back for you in thirty minutes, starting from now. Oh, and, please, do not try to wander off or escape, especially if you cannot fly; believe me, you would not get too far - the bird stopped to think for another second - Well, that is it for now; if you will excuse me, I have a written report to be made about you.

The female owl began to walk towards the direction they came from a few minutes earlier. Just as Markson was about to turn and step inside the hollow, she suddenly turned around said one last thing; but this last thing had a meaning to Barnes, and a favorable one at that.

\- By the way, it is Valery - the bird could see that, at first, Chris was not quite able figure out what she meant, thus, she made her statement more obvious and more clearer - My name; you asked what it was - then, Markson understood - It is Valery - and with that, the female owl turned around, and walked away, disappearing from the ex-marshal's sight in mere seconds.

No matter, as Chris was smiling inside anyway.

Now, it was Barnes' turn to vanish from this corridor; but he was not going to escape or run for it. No, he knew better now: if he ever wanted to find out what on Earth had happened to him, he required outside help, not just himself; he was short on options, so this had to do for now.

Markson - for a not perfectly clear reason - took a deep breath, exhaled, then stepped inside the hollow of the owl that, if everything was more or less correct in Valery's words, will be able to assist him in a search for answers.

**Oh, since we are here: I am starting a side-project on this FanFic; it is essentially the "setting of the stage" for this story, just in a journal's format (meaning first-person perspective). It focuses on a scientist's research about the events that are _really_ happening in the background, and can count as a preliminary clue to a few aspects of this story.  
Make sure you check it once it is up, there is more to come to this story than it might seem at the first glance.**


	8. Among the Books

**Well, yeah; I was "off-the-grid" again for quite some time, but summer vacation is a time-consumer, and I had not many potential occasions to finish this chapter for a long while. Still, I used as many opportunities as I could to access a computer where I could carry on, and - a shame it is - I was only finished by now.  
Anyway, the story itself is still not suspended, I am not planning to do that at all. So, what else is there to say? Nothing, I would believe (other than the usual, found below).**

_**I do not own the Guardians of Ga'Hoole series.  
****I take Christopher Markson, Irvis, Byran, Felias, Ania, and Valery as my own characters and creations.  
**__**_**Even though he is only mentioned, Otulissa still belongs to Kathryn Lasky.  
**_The Federal Air Marshal Service and the Transportation Security Administration are not my creations.**_

Among the Books

_The Great Ga'Hoole Tree, Southern-Kingdoms_

_Close to 10:40 p.m._

_Christopher Barnes Markson, ex-TSA_

The first thing Markson spotted upon entering the hollow was its presumed owner and inhabitant - an owl with brown and white spots, two blends of colours that Chris was very accustomed with by this time - towering over a horribly organised pile (to be brutally honest though, more of a mountain) of many different books, papers, scrolls, and other written versions of the aforementioned possessions, varying in both size and quality; some were ragged along the edges, the rest appeared to be in perfect condition. The previously mentioned owl, although not clear if deliberately or indirectly, but seemed to be not noticing Barnes as he entered through the opening of the hollow.

After these, Markson began to notice everything else that could be found in the space of this location: the rest of the hollow was, in actuality, not that distinct from the above mentioned; as a fact, Chris would have been able to sum up the description of the whole place with the words „unorganised" and „untended"; just like a scientist's office or laboratory that had, at least, eight experiments occurring at the same time.

In the left corner of the hollow, some types of (presumably) scientific instruments, not being far away in relation from beakers, were placed in an everything-but-neat pile; however, the only difference these items beared was their material: regular beakers were, normally, made out of glass, yet, these counterparts were metal. Thus, using the power of deduction and conclusion, this equipment could not possibly have been used for the observation of liquids or any other chemical substances.

The right side was, presently, visually blocked, and Chris was not able to determine what lay behind the trunk, taking that the main reason for this was the weird formation of the hollow. Still, Markson could imagine the stacks of paper and some other miscellaneous items and equipment that were housed in the currently unseeable corner.

After five long seconds, that felt like five whole minutes to Barnes, he settled upon the decision of acting; he cleared his throat to gently signal his presence (and, although there were a few other possible options the ex-marshal could have considered, he has not done this with any of the alternatives), which sounded considerably louder than he had planned on; albeit the volume of his previous doing was, incomprehensibly, on the field of sound, emphasised enough to be clearly heard, no visible physical reactions were given by the owl as a response, or even a sign of detection.

Stuck in the position of not being able to decide on what action to take next, Barnes just stayed quiet, speculating on different ideas and explanations; maybe, the bird did not acknowledge Chris' presence because he might not have finished his own line of thoughts - some had this little personality-fragment about them. Then again, most mention this minimal, but crucial piece of information, at least giving a form of signal that certifies that, in fact, they have heard and understood, but require a short amount of time to sort out their own mental thought-processes.

Markson allowed the short time-span of ten seconds to take its turn, awkwardly shifting his relatively light body's weight from one foot to the other, already starting to pre-plan his next sentence.

When he finished with the construction of his to-be-said statement, Barnes gave himself - however, realistically, the owl - another five seconds, then, he - rather cautiously, but just for the given moment - spoke.

\- Uh... excuse me? - the owl, at this point, picked up a feather quill from his right (which was probably from, well, his own wing), then dipped its tip into a glass that contained a dark liquid (presumably ink, judging by the colour), which, by some type of unimaginable miracle, managed to stay perfectly still and balanced on another mound of papers; following this, the owl took a clear and empty piece of sheet from one of the „parchment-mountains", and began to write.

None of these actions appeared to have occurred due to Chris; yet, notwithstanding by this fact, the ex-marshal carried on with his devised plan of establishing a fix conversation by verbal communication - Uh... Valery said that you will be able to help me? I am not sure if you know her, but, uh... - Barnes has originally started these off as declarative sentences, yet, due to his uncertainty, which was caused by the unusually reactionless behaviour of the owl, the former turned into a question, and the latter was not fully finished; both sentences came out unconvincingly.

On a side-note, though, the owl himself still did not gave off a single visible or physical reaction that would have suggested his acknowledgement to Barnes' presence; he only kept writing his lately acquired parchment.

Despite Markson's knowing of this situation not being the best to start losing patience, Chris could not help himself, and exhaled in a heavy - what is more, horribly and dangerously loud - fashion; luckily enough, the owl either did not hear it, or just could not afford or bother to care.

Barnes had, however, played around with the thought beforehand, and he theorised that the bird's hearing might be impaired, or, to top it, maybe he was just simply deaf; although, due to the limited knowledge Chris was presently in possession of about the possible disabilities and illnesses of owls, he disbanded the idea, and have the apparent problem another relatively short time of thirty seconds.

„What could be the reason of this constant ignoring? Have I forgot to knock, or what?", wondered Markson, honestly not being capable enough to figure out the behaviour of the bird. „Maybe he does not even knows who Valery is; after all, this tree could have about a total number of... well, maybe way more than a hundred owls living in it. That would be the unlucky case though!", he commented on his own thoughts with a bitter taste.

After those, again, needlessly long seconds passed along, Chris asked another one of his previously devised questions.

\- Sorry, I am seriously not aiming to bother you or anything, but I have been told that you will be able to help me - reasoned Markson, yet, no responsive actions were given back to him. Having a few nerves pulled by now, Barnes attempted to hurry this up - Okay, now I am not sure if you are able to hear me, but if you could just... - but here and then, unexpected on the highest possible level by the ex-marshal, the owl, finally, began to speak, directly to Chris at that.

However, the way and style he started to speak with suggested that he, to say at the very least, was rather bothered and annoyed; his tone was stressed and indignant, and yet, it rang crystal-clear and strictly through the hollow, on such a level that - Chris, involuntarily, had to admit - even his own heart had speeded up a bit from the sudden and quite violent reaction of the owl.

Barnes was not entirely sure, but he had the vague speculation that the cause of this unexpected temperamental outburst was from his own self; maybe he disrupted the owl in the middle of something fairly important; maybe he did not.

Nevertheless, the bird himself accompanied his more-than furious emotional and physical statement with a verbal counterpart as well.

\- Do you see what I am doing here? - he snapped at Markson in a harsh, aggressive approach, finally turning his head, which gave accommodation to two piercing eyes, their yellow glint shining with temper, but the signs of intellect not being hidden away by anything at all.

Not wishing to deteriorate the conversation towards the turbulent and hostile end, Chris, in a, presumably, futile desperation, attempted to pull himself out from the potential point of the crisis.

\- Sorry, I... I thought that you could not... - tried Barnes, but the owl was, at the given moment, not even planning to focus his attention on Markson; in lieu, he carried on with his personal monologue of frustration and nerve.

\- How am I supposed to concentrate on my work when, every now and then, another, another, and yet another owl comes to me with a stupid and pointless question! - he violently smashed his pen (the feather-quill that was, more than likely, his own) into the paper he was, a second ago, writing on, sending a minuscule, but worrying tremor down the mound of paper that, hitherto, resembled the perfect definition of the word „instability" - This investigation and research I was asked to conduct requires me to think carefully and thoroughly about every single detail, be it little or massive in size, to figure out why this happened, how it happened, and how we could reverse it; I am unable to do this with an owl constantly hooting in my ear! - in this short span of time, the small frustration the owl started out with escalated into a proper fury and displeasure - I do not have time for broken flasks or weather-interpretation equipment; now go, and tell this to whoever has sent you to... - however, prior to the owl coming to the end of his intended sentence, he, all of a sudden, simply, halted his speech; his eyes widened as some type of realisation or revelation came upon him, making the bird to, as a reflex, change his facial expression to a mix of awe and surprise.

Nonetheless, after an alarmingly short span of time, the latter faded away from the owl's face, and, instead - during the whole length of a moment's fragment - transformed into suspicion, regular dislike, and enmity as the owl squinted his eyes.

„At least", thought Chris, „he is not shouting anymore!", a minor relief passing through him in total inertia.

\- You are our so-called Silverbeak, are not you? - asked the bird, maintaining a constant facial gesture through the whole process of him almost spitting out the words of the above spoken sentence; now, when Barnes took a closer look and proper examination, he came to the conclusion that the owl was shaking: either from anger or from fear, he did not knew, however, the puffed-up feathers and plumage was rather suggestive towards a threatening posture.

Thus, using common sense, anyone - including the ex-marshal himself - would have settled with the former option; after all, it was all rather obvious.

At this point, Chris came to a tough decision, if it could be called that; he was an opportunist, but he never went against something that he has once stated; despite this, he knew that, when conversations - much like this one - contained issues of trust at their cores (which limited the level of confidence and faith for both sides that were opposing each other), the best way to restore stability and to dissipate these problems was to drop confidentiality (at least, in the given moment, this would, potentially, have the most well-functioning outcome); essentially, there was only one question circling around in his head, and that was about the „do-or-not".

A swift blitzkrieg went ahead and finished in three seconds flat in Chris' brain; he came to his decision, and was about to execute it.

\- Listen, I know that someone has stuck this name on me - Markson attempted to bail himself out of this - No one knows this, but my real name is... - but, before he could reach the end of his sentence, the owl interrupted him.

\- Spare me your self-explaining monologues! - hissed the owl at Chris - I do not wish to get acquainted with someone who attacks those who wish to help him! - he sent minatory look towards the ex-marshal.

In that instant of the present moment, Barnes had no idea what the owl was talking about, but, after a short second of thinking, it all came back to his mind; Matthias - that was his name, if Markson remembered it correctly - the bird in the infirmary that he successfully subdued; still, at that time, he was interpreting things differently, compared to now.

The owl must have saw an instinctive reaction on Chris' face as he recalled these past events, given that what he said next suggested this in a direct manner:

\- You remember now, do not you? - asked the owl in a smug style, somehow managing to imply a smirking-expression with his beak; another thing for Barnes to „marvel" at - Tell me; how hard was it to kill an unarmed medic?

This shocked the ex-marshal from his feet to the top of his feathered head; surely, he applied some force to Matthias' throat, but that does not means that he shattered his windpipe!

Or does it? Markson had a fearful doubt growing inside him, his stomach feeling like it was digesting itself; he killed before, but he never took an innocent life.

\- I only subdued him, he is not dead...! - he reassured the owl, but, in reality, he only struggled on self-conviction.

\- Is he? - the bird cut him off once again, tilting his head slightly to the left, obviously being sarcastic; his tone gave it all away - The last time I checked the body, it was not moving much...

That „cliffhanger" the bird left at the end of his sentence deeply bothered Markson and upset him in many ways; „No, this just cannot be true!", he thought, „I know my limits, and back then... that was nowhere near death!".

\- You are bluffing - he declared to the owl, although his tone was not even close to confident; nevertheless, his words were honest and challenging. He meant was he was saying.

\- Oh, am I now? - another sarcastic remark from the owl, which marked the beginning of the point where Chris started to lose some of his patience - You knew me for about three minutes, and you make this statement so freely? I expected at least a bit more from a backstabbing snake...

„Let it slide, he is just toying with you!", told Barnes to himself, „He wants you to react, to lose it! Do not let him!".

\- I am good at reading people, and I stick with my version of the story, understood? - he went on offense now, not leaving (or, at least, giving less) room for the bird to maneuver in.

\- Do not you dare „understood" me! - he raised his voice, but Chris braced himself long ago for anything similar; without any further ado, the bird carried on - You began to speak more loosely, something you have not earned the right to do yet! - ensuing this, an unsettling shadow descended on the owl's face, his yellow eyes giving off a shine of threat - I know what you are; however, the less I do about the reason that you are here for - said the owl, constantly and steadily glaring at Markson - Would not you want to tell me? - the question itself was sharp and straight, definitely demanding an answer, no matter what; despite this, Barnes was not going to satisfy the bird with a sufficient reply: not because he did not chose to.

It was due to him not knowing the answer; it was actually quite surprising that, for the time he was here, be that a day or two, he never wondered about the „why" question. Indeed, why was he here, and for what purpose?

Chris believed that everything happened for a reason: if this was karma, someone must have had a truly botched sense of humour.

And, though this was significant to contemplate around with, Barnes, straightforwardly, did not have time for this right now; he was still in the hollow of the owl, and the bird was still glaring at him, not looking keen on giving up.

\- Alright, listen, Felias, is it? - asked Markson, however, he did not actually knew the owl's name; he remembered that Irvis and Matthias (the name now sent a shiver down the ex-marshal's spine) were having a discussion were they mentioned someone who, supposedly, was not the happiest when disturbed in the middle of his work. There and then, the two used the name Felias; putting one and one together, Chris took his chances here. After all, what was the worst that could happen?

\- Say my name again and I will personally remove you from this hollow! - warned the bird, creating a rather ironic and ridiculous situation, as Barnes was at least double the size of him.

Nevertheless, he apologised, now attempting to avoid any further escalation into conflict; at the least, he now knew that his hunch about the name was correct.

\- Fine, sorry; I believe we have got off on the wrong foot here! - he was aiming to appease the bird, having a half-success so far; Felias was still glaring, but, at least, he stopped shaking from his nerves - I was sent by Valery, she said that you will be able to help me out - no response came from the owl, for now - That must mean something!

\- Yes, it means that an all-heart Guardian decided that it is such a smart decision to trust someone who committed murder not more than a day ago; I prefer to call that... absurdity, to be honest with you! - stated Felias, now returning to his sarcastic tone once again.

\- Listen! - it was now Barnes' turn to raise his voice, which cut the owl's monologue short; the ex-marshal had enough, and now wanted to get somewhere - Believe me when I say this; I have as much intention of being at this tree then anyone else here wants me to! My only problem is that I have no idea how I got here, or for what purpose - the traces of distrust and anger have slowly slipped away from Felias' face, exchanged by a minor and unsure grimace; Chris has sighed - This is where I need your help; the faster I find out what happened to me, the quicker I will become someone else's problem! - of course, now Markson was just playing along with the drama; he finally wanted to crack the owl, and he was running out of patience.

Felias glanced away for a minute, seemingly deep in his thoughts, supposedly trying to figure out an excuse or an objection against Chris' request.

However, the response that came from him was the least expected by the ex-marshal, as, apparently, the owl has agreed to help; to an extent, that is.

\- Need my help, you say? - asked Felias, now sounding calmer, but still rather suspicious - I am too busy to chick-sit you right now, but I could direct you in the correct direction, taking that there is any - he took out another piece of blank and empty parchment from one of the mounds, and inscribed a few words on it - Here, take this! - when he finished, he handed it over to Chris, who took it with one foot - The name of a few books that might give you some further insight on... what you think is, or was, happening to you - the owl hopped back to his elevated position, then perched on its top again - Just go to the Great Library, they have them there - he turned his head back towards the ex-marshal, who nodded, signaling his appreciation.

Then, a major problem popped into Markson's mind - ...And where exactly is this library? - he inquired, but, this time, Felias returned to his usual style, and a dry and apathetic reply came.

\- Ask around and find it out yourself! - the sarcastic ways have returned once again; not too soon though, Barnes has almost began to miss them by now - As I have said, I have...

\- ...Better things to do, alright, I get it - Chris finished off the owl's sentence, already starting to back out from the hollow; now, he took a 180 degrees turn around, and exited the hollow, for another time, finding himself in the so-called corridor.

He was about to walk off to the right, yet, before he could take a step, a voice called out his „nickname"; Markson turned his head (and only his head; he actually began to find this quite... cool), and spotted a Barn owl, roughly a meter away from him, walking closer by the seconds' passing (however, it would be interesting to note down that now, since his size was reduced to a small fraction of a human's, the measured distance appeared to be larger and longer as well).

\- Silverbeak? - he asked, to which Chris was swift to reply to.

\- Call me that, if you want to - he said, then, immediately after, continued - Yes?

\- Valery sent me to be your... well, I am not going to lie, „temporal warden"; I am only going to watch you from a comfortable distance, that is all - Barnes nodded, agreeing to the previous - By the way, my name is Lyran; just... for the formalities.

\- Chr... - began the ex-marshal, but quickly cut off his own sentence, and pretended it to be his throat hurting - Sorry, I swallowed in a bad way, it is fine now.

\- Okay... - commented Lyran, not paying much attention to Markson's slip-of-the-tongue.

\- Now, since you are here... - started of Chris, attracting the eye contact of the Barn owl - ...You could help me out with something.

\- What would that be? - requested the bird, giving off a light, friendly smile towards Barnes.

\- Do you happen to know where the... „Great Library" is? - answered the ex-marshal with a question, receiving an instant answer a second later.

\- Certainly - said Lyran - If you would follow me.

\- Oh, and one small request? - asked Markson, to which the owl signaled with a „hm" sound, telling Chris to carry on - If you could, please choose a route that does not includes flying.

\- If you really want me to... - shrugged the bird, heading off to the right; Barnes was right behind him.

\- Terrific - he muttered under his breath, but was entirely assured that the Barn owl heard it; however, he, luckily, had not reacted to it.

_The Library, Great Ga'Hoole Tree, Southern-Kingdoms_

_Close to 11:30 p.m._

_Christopher Barnes Markson, ex-TSA_

The on-the-foot way to the library reminded Chris of a hardcore labyrinth, or one of those „find-your-own-route" games, as he ceased the attempt of memorising the inconsistent pattern of lefts and rights after the eighth turn; Markson had to admit that this place was exactly identical to an enormous maze when one was trying to get around the whole place on foot – obviously, this tree was definitely designed for flyers, and was less supportive towards walkers (of course, the word „designed" does not attempts to imply that anyone has physically built this place; this thought of Chris was entirely metaphorical).

Nevertheless, while his „little and short" walk – with the leading of Lyran - took its irritatingly long time and place – which basically consisted of an endless walk through the seemingly forever twisting and everlasting passages of the tree's inner body and structure – many other owls on the way have gave that specific eye to Barnes as they passed next to the ex-marshal; but not in an almost non-noticeable or discreet - oh no! If Chris would not have known better, he would have believed that there was something on his face; ironically enough, that was just the right case.

They knew of who he was and of what he did: Markson was able to tell about these things, he was experienced enough for that.

These owls' gazes were bearing grudges and resentment, incriminating Chris with their piercing glares (even the void-dark eyes of some, mostly Barn owls, and some other species the ex-marshal was unable to identify), sending their message loud and clear towards Barnes: he was not welcome here, and every thought about him could have been summed up in, more or less, the same.

However; as much as Markson's brain was keeping a focus on this thought alone, these ideas were only a projection of his own mind, made real only by the guilt that was lingering around his head, induced by the news of Matthias' death; realistically, the percentage of ninety could not possibly have had a clue on who he was; even Valery mentioned that only a „precious few" had a partial knowledge about Chris' assumed identity. Essentially, he was being paranoid, a thing he never was in his whole life and career, taken the importance of his used-to-be job; now… now, he was not even trusting his own common sense, taking that his brain had just tricked him into the belief that he murdered an innocent - let us state - „civilian".

In reality, it was safe to believe that the owls at this tree had no clear opinion on him, what is more, in fact! Most definitely had no idea who he even was! The most likely reason of why the higher percentage passersby have took a glance at him was that he did not appeared to visually look like any of these owls (taken his unknown species); plus, the almost shining silver beak and the clear, ocean-blue eyes were more than discernible, being an obvious reason for all the weird look that Markson has received in the past minutes.

Then again, this was only his conscience that was playing this game with Chris; the only real complication that would have caused a headache to anyone was that this game was played too damn well by the ex-marshal's inner voice.

The long desired destination - the library - itself had a rather peculiar physical shape and form, once again showing Barnes' eyes something entirely new and fresh to take in: the hollow (as this place was still a hollow, only differentiating away from all the others with its size) appeared to have its top section - or, respectably, „ceiling" - higher than other, previously already seen hollows, plus, the given space was enormous, compared to the other spaces Chris has seen in the past hours; summed up, the library, assumedly, received the title „great" for its size, not only for its hardly believable deposit of books (which was yet another feature to marvel at).

It occurred to Markson that there were a few separate sections, like petite, private reading-rooms, established for discreet study and for isolated reading - only that these were hollow spots in the hollow itself, including in themselves something that resembled a desk, facing - but not fully - downwards in a forty-five degrees angle, with a little outcrop at the bottom, providing an easy and excellent stopping point for any book that was susceptible to slide down (either from its weight, position, or by the material of its cover), which, as in most cases, would have been induced by the power of gravity, and a thicker, imaginably… „talon-crafted" perch to be sat on, decorated with one brass-looking metal brace on both of its ends.

The main interest of the library - which were, expectedly, the books themselves - , as mentioned once above, were quite numerous: lines and lines of shelf-like structures, each containing at least five dozen books, all bearing front covers that were constructed or crafted from animal skin, the leather of some small rodent, maybe a rabbit, their titles inscribed by something much more expensive, as these were either of golden or silver colours, both types of letters shining beautifully, evocatively, and yet, still vividly, in the moon's and the oil lamps' (as those were also present here) light.

A few other owls were present in the library, assumedly those who have had more of a scholar's background; however, by this point, Markson gave up on trying, and was not even attempting to identify any of the species that were perching around this massive hollow. All of them - but one - were either reading a book, or were having a private, but respectably quiet conversation (some with a book, but some were without this scholarly object); the final category were those who, apparently, preferred solitude, and took the clear advantage of the above mentioned, isolated sections.

However, the previously already highlighted owl was not doing any of these above mentioned actions, although, instead, was silently sitting on his - presumably - usual branch, hardly noticeable for the naked eye (even if that was an owl's), quietly glaring in the direction of Markson, yet, it was hard for Chris to determined if he was looking towards him directly, or at something in his vicinity; the ex-marshal brain was crossed by the thought that he might be one of Valery's associates, assigned to watch Barnes, most definitely for the unlikely case if Markson would have came up with the insane and wild thought of running, planning on getting away on foot - or on the wing, but it was no secret that he was unable to do that anyway.

„Let them watch!", thought Barnes challengingly, unwillingly letting a „beak-smile" to form on his face; Markson, before he became a marshal for the TSA, was well-experienced in private-jobs for self-made contractors. One of these businesses consisted of the close observation of a specific target or suspect, usually someone who was seeming or acting suspicious to the higher-ups; „At least", thought Chris, „I will see now what the other end of the knife looks like!".

\- So, this would be the library? - asked Markson, however, he did not established eye contact with Lyran, as the ex-marshal was, still, scanning this greatly-sized hollow, speechlessly inspecting all the details of the place, secretly admiring all the work and effort that was put into its construction and design.

\- This is it - replied Lyran, apparently not minding, yet following the same pattern of behaviour that Barnes have, seconds ago, just stated; scanning around, instead of looking at one another - It is prospering and growing since its creation, which was roughly a thousand years ago, maybe more - he kept a small pause, but it was clear that he was not one of those who loved to not talk or to not share interesting information - I admit, there were a few complications and problems through the lines of history, I would not deny that; I mean, at one point, some, specific books were almost banned, although, I only know this as the typical tale of our time by now, and… - for the past ten seconds, while the owl was talking, Barnes just simply rested his blue eyes upon the bird's face, patiently waiting for the closing-word of this endless flow of talk; when Lyran noticed, he, almost awkwardly, dropped his eyes from the ex-marshal's gaze, and was now staring at the carved-wood floor of the library.

\- Do you usually add a trivial „note" to all of your sentences? - asked Chris with a seriousness that was clearly pretended, giving the talkative owl a friendly look, who, after taking a short moment of two seconds, raised his gaze up again, establishing eye contact with Barnes, reiterating the two's visual connection - I did not mean that seriously, just for you to know - backed out Markson, hoping that he did offended with his previous, of what he called, joke.

Lyran - ordinarily, not necessarily as a response to the above - sighed, and shook his head, bordering close to the suggestion that he was genuinely ashamed of himself; he made that strange chirring sound, which, now Barnes came to realise, was, believably, a type of emotional reaction, imaginably unique to these owls; only a theorization by Chris, but a fair supposition, if we think about it while we are at it.

\- No, not really, but, uh… - he began, but his expected answer was short-lived; he walked closer to Markson, but only a minimal bit, as the owl still kept a respectable amount of distance, upholding the fundamental and mandatory rules of „personal space" - Valery told me your story, and she said that you are quite… - he rethought at least five sentences, unbelievably carefully, before the bird, finally settling on an adequate response, spoke again - I am trying to not offend, and still, I am having difficulties with choosing my words - he drifted off into reconsideration again, forcing Chris to begin his lengthy course of action where he would, sooner or later (usually the latter), lose his patience.

„Yeah, I can see that!", thought Markson, and, if he would have been physically able to, the ex-marshal would gladly have rolled his eyes; „If you keep up your speed, we might be done by tomorrow!", he added in his brain, minorly frustrated.

This Lyran was one of those whom Barnes would have described, in the most dumbed-down and common way, as a kid; nevertheless, this, by all means, was not meant towards the younger layer of civilisation, but was attempting to describe a person who was ambitious, enthusiastic - maybe even partially impassioned - and was not a challenge to excite; nevertheless, these people (or, in this given perspective, owls) were sometimes just, to simply put it, overly young.

On Lyran, Chris could see that he was just a kid; inexperienced, but bearing a great potential; nonetheless, this was the ex-marshal's neutral viewpoint. Personally, he was willing to avoid any further „get-to-knows", at least until he found something useful out from this very library.

\- Just say that I do not fit in, and be done with it! - hurried Markson, exhaling heavily in this short process.

\- Oh, no; that was not what I wanted to say at all! - defended Lyran, seemingly being on the brink of apologising - I was just… Ah, nevermind, forget about it - with this, the conversation was ceased by the owl.

„That is not going to be immensely difficult", thought Chris, however, a small feeling of guilt signaled from his stomach; now, even Barnes admitted that, if one thinks about it, one could clearly state, without any trace of doubt, that, with his previous thought, the ex-marshal crossed an imaginary line, and was, maybe, a bit too harsh on the owl.

Now, both birds (if we include Barnes) stood in silence: Lyran, once again, scanning the floor for something that was not there, and Markson, awaiting an action from the bird, staring at his temporary warden's face.

\- So? - asked Chris from Lyran, lengthening his sentence to show its level of significance (which he, privately, considered to be rather important); to this, the owl snapped his head up, and looked at Barnes again, although he exhibited a lack of understanding by his facial motions.

Lyran had no idea what the ex-marshal was urging him about, thus, as an appropriate response, he asked back, hoping that he would receive a response with an increased degree of information.

\- „So"? - he inquired towards Markson, patiently awaiting the arrival of a senseful response.

\- How long are you planning to stand here? - questioned Chris, raising one eyelid higher than the other (since he figured out that his in this shape and form, he was able to accomplish such movements).

\- Oh - came the response with a double-timed reaction - I… I did not knew that you did not wanted me to watch, I, uh… - Lyran kept stuttering with his words, and, in all of the meanwhile, Barnes maintained his facial gesture, and kept his right eye raised; shortly after, the owl ran out of words stumble on, then, in a quiet and modest manner, took his choice, which's content was detectable from the final, conversation-ending part of his speech - I will be over there - gestured the bird towards an empty corner, which contained an apparatus that was closely relatable to a desk - In case you would need me - subsequently after this, the bird nodded, then backed away into the section of the hollow that he just mentioned.

Well, at least, in a relative way of speaking.

Without regard to his previous sentence, Lyran opened his beak once again, howbeit, the words pronounced by him now, as a matter of fact, resembled advice that the ex-marshal could take use of.

\- And, uh… if you look there… - gestured the bird with his wings towards the direction to which Chris was standing with his back towards; as a result of this, the ex-marshal turned only his head around (Barnes was able to use the advantages of certain situations, as his skills were well-fined when it came to adaptation; for example, the current moment), and saw an almost cutely tiny owl, perching over a pile of parchments that were the prime example of what Felias' hollow should have appeared like. Chris turned back to Lyran, who, upon visually acquiring the proof that the ex-marshal knew to whom he have pointed him to, resumed his half-done sentence - …That is Ania, she is the book matron; she will definitely know where to find whatever you are looking for. I dare add that she knows the library off her talon - then, the owl, finally, took a turn of a hundred and eighty degrees angle, and, in a calm and slow manner, walked towards the corner he had mentioned about a minute ago.

On the other hand, for a short while, Markson followed the bird with his eyes (which were now directly corresponding to the angle which his face was pointed towards), then, consequently to the clear sign of Lyran, _lastly_, taking his specified spot in the library, and not turning around to say something witty or trivial again, the ex-marshal swallowed (a foreign feeling yet again), and embarked on his ludicrously short journey to the - supposed - "book matron"; nevertheless, Chris would have been _easily_, what is more, _effortlessly_, able to identify a much more familiar and accepted word. This was, namely, the title, "librarian".

As he approached the small owl with a casually slow pace of walking, the bird raised her gaze; if the information given by Lyran was true (and, to be honest, why would it not have been?), then this nocturnal creature - or, to be called by her previously mentioned name, Ania - was, in all of her actuality, a female. She gave a look awfully similar of those owls who have passed him and his "temporal warden" on their way to this library, then, as if she have snapped out of this (as it lasted for an uncomfortable time of four seconds), the bird shook her head - although _barely_ noticeably.

\- Evening, uh... - she began unsurely. "_Knows the library off her talon_, huh?", thought Barnes, not yet convinced at all, "This should be good!" - Are you looking for a book, specifically? - now, this resembled the word "reliability" a bit more, minorly assuring Markson about the owl's proficiency.

\- Yes, in fact... - paused Chris for a second or two; Felias gave him a note, and, by his telling, this piece of paper contained the titles of the volumes he was eager to finally read. Presently, the ex-marshal was leaning down to acquire this miniature sheet, as he, up to this moment, held it in his talons for all along, now not entirely sure if this was, now looking back at it, a reasonable idea. Before it could have been handed over, Barnes found it suitable to unfold the now almost _decimated_ material, so it was plain and smooth enough to be readable.

First off, this was another sight to behold: Chris was holding one corner of the paper with his beak, and the opposing corner with two of his talons, holding it between two of his sharp claws; although the small owl - _possibly_ \- aimed to stay polite, the ex-marshal was assured that, if given the word or sign of "no offense taken", she would have bursted out laughing at him.

When Chris was done (rather belatedly, he took his time, yet this was not deliberate; who could have known that unfolding something with a beak and claws can take so long?), he lifted Felias' note in front of his own face, roughly about eye-level, waving it triumphantly for the librarian, or, more familiarly to these owls, "book-matron". She, upon taking the paper, already began to read the letters written on it, plus, all in the while, started to slowly balance it on the top of her mound of papers.

\- I was given this... - he began after he handed the note over, however, Ania kept her eyes on the ex-marshal for the whole time; when she was done with the action of reading the mentioned item of interest, Barnes carried on with his talk - ...And it contains _all_ the books I am looking for - he finished, hoping that, for all this time, Felias did not write something nonsensical on it.

Be that as it may, Markson now trusted the assumed fact that the owl (just for the record, the one who _personally_ accused him of murder) was not attempting (at least, not anymore) to play a hoax on him. He was too far in now for that; well, he thought this, but did not knew that much.

Then again, he could not know this fact, purely from the sole reason that he _could not possibly_ have known this fact; this was the easiest and most clearest explanation. No more, and no less could have been added or taken away from this.

\- Is this for chaw work? - asked the female owl, her sentence forcing the (now) confused Barnes to put his head in an angle that suggested the opposite of understanding. Waving with her right wind as a sign of "nevermind", Ania continued - I am only just asking, because these all are... rather old tomes - then, she began to read out the titles to Markson; supposedly, this was to assist the muddled ex-marshal in comprehending of what he was, as a matter of fact, aiming to read; a sympathetic deed, yes, but, sadly, Chris had _no idea_ or clue of what the book-matron was talking about. Yet, he hid his facial expressions well, and pretended understanding, and attempted to figure a few things out from the heard clues - _The Others and Their Assumed History Before Our Time_, by Strix Otulissa - here, Ania gave Barnes a meaningful gaze, and added a comment to it - Over a hundred years old - then, she cleared her throat, and proceeded along with her words - _The List of Recorded Abnormalities of the Previous Years in the Southern-Kingdoms_, compiled by Felias Braystorm - another lift of eyes from the bird - The one who has sent you.

"I noticed, thank you!", thought Chris with the lightest frustration possible; annoyed or not, he _despised_ it when someone explained or mentioned something that was _clearly_ and undoubtedly obvious.

\- Lastly, we have... - she began with a sigh, then said the title of the book, painfully slowly; however, it was, with this emotional reaction, suggested that this tome was, for a yet unexplained reason, was, either a bit or a lot, more important than the two previous - _The Studies of Anomalies in the Southern-Kingdoms_, by Edegar Braystorm; not as old as the previous copy, but still rather aged: 30 years - interestingly enough, no further remarks were made by Ania at this point, and she continued to stare at the little piece of paper that she already have placed on the top of _her_ mound of parchments.

\- Let me guess - spoke Chris, catching the librarian's attention in an instant - That is this Felias guy's father? - shortly after this, Markson carried out a quick reconsideration; was it smart to use the word, "guy"? After all, he was not even sure if these owls used worked with such words, or if their vocabulary was this similar to Barnes', as a human's would have been.

"Nah, it should be alright!", told Chris to his own self privately, in thoughts, "After what I have experienced so far... their language cannot be much different!".

\- Ah... sorry, it must be me, but, uh... - began Ania, leading to the ex-marshal to believe that, for another time, she was having problems with her job (in which, by the telling of Lyran, she was supposed to be _so_ professional at); little did Markson knew about the reality of the situation, although it should have been fairly perceptible to him - What is a "guy"? - this was the source of the issue, and Barnes was now fully aware of this. Hoping to evade any further complications on this matter, he dismissed his previously pronounced word with a simple response.

\- Let me put it differently - he attempted to turn his mistake (which was, on the grand scale, not _entirely_ his fault) into a perceivable definition - I will try this again. So, this Felias owl; is he this "Edegar" owl's son or family relative? - the ex-marshal weighed this out as a cogitable communique towards the bird he was conversing with.

\- Oh, I see what you mean now! - "I am glad that you do", thought Barnes as an answer, and he knew that pronouncing this would have been _way more_ than offensive, thus, he only thought of it, and not said it out loud to be heard by everyone - Yes, Edegar Braystorm, may Glaux rest his soul, is the late father of Felias; but... - at this point, Ania leaned a minimal amount closer to Markson, and lowered her voice to the audible volume of a whisper - Do not tell anyone that I it was _me_ who has told this to you, but... Oh, how should I say? - and with this, she ventured into the process of sentence-construction.

"A librarian who is a gossipmonger?", thought Barnes while the owl was having difficulties with the "figuring-out" of what to say, "The best of the best to acquire information from; my luck this is!", he added sarcastically, knowing from past experience that spread rumors and hearsay, for most of the time, could not be trusted (to shorten the story down, let us just state that Markson had a few... _undesirable_ colleagues at the TSA; there were even some who have said... _things_ about him that spread around the Administration like wildfire. Things that were utter and disputable _lies_, showing a totally incorrect and mentally invented fabrication of what Markson actually was like. In a version cut short, Chris was not fond of those who put their nose - or, to fit the current parameters, beaks - into others' business. For Ania, this was not a good start, and she had already earned a mistrust in the ex-marshal, a thing that could become dangerous, if one would consider the future).

By now, the librarian owl has successfully organised a sentence, that was, if rated by its content of information, in a conclusion, could have been counted as acceptable, or, at the least, usable.

\- Felias and his father were... _complicated_ together, to be put simply - said Ania, almost whispering at the moment; she _really_ did not wanted anyone other than Barnes to receive this small pack of information - Edegar was always away, and Felias' mother died early, so... for most of the time, he was alone.

"This could explain his personality of a... well, let us not be rude just yet!", thought Markson; he was a person of tolerance, although only when he was required to; if someone came at him aggressively, be that physically or verbally, without a proper reason or background-motive, Chris was _not_ going to be empathetic. Now that he suspected the sense that, for so far, was hiding behind Felias' actions, the ex-marshal was able to give him a minimal amount of sympathy; still, what that owl said crossed the line a few times, thus, Markson could not give full toleration towards the bird.

Barnes was so much into his thoughts that he has almost forgot about Ania, who, up to this exact point, was still talking to him, albeit the fact that the ex-marshal was not quite focusing on her anymore; realising this, Chris quickly undertook the action of joining back into the conversation, hiding his previous loss of focus perfectly well.

\- ...Of course, my mother told me this, as I am not that old to have known Edegar myself - Markson arrived to the point of the sentence where the owl has already finished her line of thought, now looking down at the small piece of paper once again.

\- Okay, thank you for the answer - said Chris, hoping that this would make Ania believe that he has actually listened for the most of the conversation - Now, uh... - he stuttered - Could you tell me where these books are located? - the sentence probably did not reached the librarian for a few seconds, as she turned her gaze upwards, towards Barnes, although the look itself was empty and blank; figuring that this was only the facial gesture the bird took on when she was thinking, Markson continued with silence, hoping that his prediction is correct.

\- They actually are in a separate section, because they are classed as... an unreal field of "science", officially - to ensure that her statement was powerful enough (or, if it was, on a low level, at least somewhat convincing), the owl added a bit more to her saying, perhaps just to strengthen it even more - The Braystorms are brilliant minds, that is indisputable; the fields they regularly researched though? Those are _hardly_ the same - she kept a tiny little pause in her speech, then, shortly after, carried on - That is the separate section - pointed the bird with her right talon, towards a space that was behind Markson, thus, in the current moment, he was unable to visually acquire it; when he turned his head fully around, he spotted that the imaginary line created by the indication of Ania's claw, ending in the far corner of this massive hollow - Right to the left of that owl there; the one you have arrived alongside with - hereby, the librarian ended her line of sentences, signaling her "farewell" towards Barnes, who, easily detecting and understanding this subtle motion, nodded, turned around, and began to walk (dejectedly) towards the precedently discussed section of the library.

Then again, Chris' current style of walking could have been questionable from a third person's viewpoint, because - as we all know by this point - he came this far to _acquire_ the knowledge from those books; and yet, here he was, moving towards the potential sources of revelation with reluctance. However, if one would have observed more carefully, one would have noticed that Lyran was in the corner that Markson was pointed towards by Ania; in addition to this, she even mentioned this small fact at the end of her last sentence. If one would have concluded from this, one would _facilely_ have understood the reason for the way-too-obviously noticeable signs of hesitation in the ex-marshal's walking style.

When he reached his not-so-faraway destination, Chris _greeted_ his... still, officially only addressible as "temporal warden"; nevertheless, this approach did not consisted of anything verbally pronounced from Barnes' side: he only looked at Lyran in an expecting way, waiting for the owl to acquire the message from his type of look.

\- Uh... Do you need me for something? - asked the bird awkwardly, truly not grasping the meaning of the ex-marshal's stare. As a response towards this, Markson glanced over the bird's head, inspecting a normally-sized (which, in this case, was relative, taking that he was an owl) board, which had letters on its surface; surprisingly enough, the letters were recognisable, plus, the word formed from them was, to the ex-marshal's hugest surprise, in _English_, spelling out the title, _Braystorm-Science_; _literally_ a second later, Barnes lowered his head, so that he was facing Lyran once again.

It took the owl a short amount of time - roughly about the numerical value of five seconds - to get the idea that Chris was attempting to exhibit for him; he swiftly turned his head around, glanced upwards, and saw the label of the shelf (or, a shelf's close relative; this architecture still appeared to be quite... _foreign_ to the ex-marshal); immediately, the bird gave out an audible sign of sudden realisation, quickly switched his eye-contact back to Markson: all implying that he, with a minor latency, had got it.

\- Ah, I see! - this being the "audible sign" mentioned above - I will try and find another corner - he said, smiling while doing so, already starting to walk away with a needless haste from Chris.

The latter, now feeling a bit guilty for his roughly-shown request, turned his head towards Lyran, and, by raising his voice, shouted over to the owl who was, by now, barely visible, as he had almost crossed the entire area of the library.

\- Hey, Lyran! - the Barn owl has span his head around with such a speed that Barnes was afraid that, if he carried on like this, the bird would break his neck on an unfortunate day - You could actually help me with something!

\- Certainly! - answered the addressed person (if he could have been called this _on paper_), and arrived back in front of the ex-marshal with double the pace he has left with, which, taking that he has walked away in a _real_ hurry, was rather amazing - What do you need help with? - inquired the owl, sounding both supportive and eager at the same time.

\- Could you take off a few books for me? - not considering the fact that he, with this sentence spoken, appeared like an unable someone, Chris supported his request with a friendly gesture on his face - I am still unused to this whole situation, plus, I was never inside this library before; so, if you do not mind? - he did not listed his solicitation again, knowing that, since Lyran had his full-focus on him this time, saying what he needed for a second time would have been an unnecessary waste of breath, also, it could have caused otherwise avoidable tension between the ex-marshal and Lyran.

So here was Markson; a few hours ago - or a day ago, taking that his sense of time _vanished_ after the crash of the plane - he was unwelcoming against all attempts of communication, and, even though he was about to cooperate, his _original_... questioner was gone for an uncertain time; he started out on the offense, and yet, he was put in a much better situation with a nice bit of work-along. Hopefully, if luck has placed its bets on Chris' side, the ex-marshal would actually find something useful. _Something_, that could explain what has occurred to him, and if there was any possible option to... reverse this thing.

However, before anything from his plans could be accomplished, Barnes found it profitable to give a little amount of assistance to Lyran, as the poor "kid" (by Markson's way of thinking) has almost dropped a quite thick book by badly judging its weight. Hoping that his wings or talons would be of any support, Chris walked up to him, and reached up for the heavy-looking tome that was held in mid-air by the flying Barn owl, barely able to hold onto the previously mentioned item as it was.

The ex-marshal had a long work ahead of him; if favor was on his side, he might just find valuable information. After all, all answers were hidden somewhere; and, most potentially, the answers Markson was seeking might just well be among the books.


	9. Thoughts of the Unknown

**Back now on a full-time scale with a brand new chapter.  
Hm; I have nothing interesting to say now, really.  
R&amp;R maybe?**

_**I do not own the Guardians of Ga'Hoole series.  
****I take all characters that do not belong to Kathryn Lasky as my own characters and creations.  
**__**_**So many events, characters, conceptions, and locations were mentioned from the books that I am not going to categorise them one-by-one; all of them are owned by Kathryn Lasky.  
Macbeth belongs to William Shakespeare, and Ray Bradbury is purely just referenced.  
**_**__**The Federal Air Marshal Service and the Transportation Security Administration are not my creations.**_

Thoughts of the Unknown

_The Library, Great Ga'Hoole Tree, Southern-Kingdoms_

_Close to 12:00 p.m._

_Christopher Barnes Markson, ex-TSA_

As the almost porous and physically unstable cover was lifted off the - approximately - hundred pages that were in a similar shape and quality as this aged book's larger section that gave home to all the information that was inscribed into it by some long dead author, the smell of dry and dead wood, accompanied by the scent of apples (maybe some type of fragrance: possibly an attempt to keep this ancient tome's _odor_ in a not-so-repellent form), hit Markson's nostrils (that were, biologically, not separate from his beak, passing a strange feeling through him again); to this, he had reacted to with the movement of turning his head entirely to the right, rapidly blinking a few times, then quietly and discreetly coughing for a few seconds. After he was finished with this short procedure, Chris cleared his throat, and turned back to the relatively largely-sized volume.

It was quite a struggle for Barnes and Lyran to land those three books on the ground in a safe and sophisticated manner, as the ex-marshal was not this familiar with his new physiology, _and_ was unable to even float in mid-air (in fact, the only thing he was comfortable with was talking; even walking was still rather weird for him to do), and Lyran was, by Markson's experience, not the first choice of _anyone_ who would have wished to accomplish _anything_ in an "on-the-field" style of doing things; nevertheless, the Barn owl gave his best towards this small task, and managed to - carefully, and, surprisingly, rather precisely - lower the massive book to a level where Chris was able to grasp into its spine with his talons.

If anyone had watched, it was their business; at this point, the ex-marshal did not give that much of a concern towards no other than Lyran, who - if judged from his behaviour around Barnes - would have been able to crush himself to death if he had came to the point contact with the walls of the hollow, _and_ if the book he was carrying would have had the right amount of momentum. Regardless to all of the above though, all three volumes were placed down on the floor of the library by the two owls (one real and one being a _newcomer_), following the same procedure each time that was mentioned beforehand; these "landings" occurred without any accidents, the two completing this quite challenging undertaking in a a total and awkward timing of seven minutes.

When finished, Markson gave his verbal form of appreciation (or, simply, said "thanks") to Lyran, who just simply replied (his facial expression also being rather suggestive towards this) that "It was his pleasure to assist"; Chris, hoping that he will not tip the imaginary scale of the conversation in neither ways, nor positive or negative, shortly replied with the round number of ten words, collected and organised into a senseful sentence.

\- Now, you can return to your assignment as a "warden" - said Barnes, and watched as Lyran, although definitely disappointed that he was still to be sent away from the ex-marshal's vicinity, walked away in a fairly contented, fulfilled, and satisfied fashion, taking every single of his steps in a proud and upright position; indeed, this _kid_ was rather useful when it came to situations as the previous one. Markson was glad that, if only for now, at least he had an owl who did not looked at him and thought him to be a potential killer and enemy; and, although the ex-marshal has considered his other thought carefully, he arrived to the conclusion at the end of his "cerebral-road" that, _no_: Valery still took him as a suspect, however, not as a murderer, which was on the bright side of everything.

At this point of time and place, everything was ready, and Chris was, after this _relatively_ long time and waiting, and _significantly_ extended lines of consecutive events and unfortunate happenings, irrevocably beyond any single shadow of a doubt, prepared and determined; if he was to find answers, he was to find the now, and, unless forced to, would not leave this very hollow until he found these explanations, be they the type that were supposed to be known, or the type which one would wish to have never heard of.

Be this as it may, Markson did not care about the aftermath of the outcome: he _had_ a long life left to live, and now... now, he was _reduced_ to a minor and insignificant entity, only functioning to eat, drink, and to sleep; he considered this a meaningless and pointless reason to live for, in fact, a colourless and purportless form of life. For now, he considered his only task to understand the - possibly - inexplicable process of how he was physically - and not mentally - transformed into an owl. When he would finally reach the ending stages of this pursuit for the truth, he would see no other point in his existance anymore. After all, he was just a simple bird now; what else did life have in reserve for him that would have counted as "relevant"? "Nothing", thought Chris as a bitter opinion, "I am not from here; what place would I even fill here? Nothing", he repeated his previous word that was only audible in his head.

Oh; how much of a naive idiot he was for even daring to think about these things! He considered himself to fully comprehend the status of his current situation, and yet, he knew a considerably minimal and useless amount of facts; none's existence is meaningless. However, it is only _time_ that is able to give to signal to one: the signal that marks where one's _real_ significance begins.

Snapping out from the previously interpretable style of thinking, Barnes closed the cover of this ancient tome again, just to check the title for another time; _The Others and Their Assumed History Before Our Time_, inscribed on this large collection of pages by someone - who has apparently died by now - called "Strix Otulissa". Not surprisingly at all, but this name revealed nothing towards Chris, who only gave the front of the book another look of hope, and, consequently, turned the leather cover of the volume over, then lifted an empty page that followed; when these were turned over, the first words - which were, of course, still not the actual content - of this tome became visually acquirable.

_Dedicated to those who enjoy the study of the fields of science that are, by our still limited knowledge of specific, undiscovered topics, not yet fully mapped out and discovered, from a ryb who has experienced the far so many aspects of life, and yet, still finds the art of knowledge the most powerful, incredible, and inexplicable among all the others and the rest. From Strix Otulissa, the scholar amongst warriors._

Barnes considered this to be the author's note, but, in reality, this was only the personally written "welcome message" (if the two would not nearly have been one and the same) of this so-called scholar, who - if Markson has judged from a logical perspective - was, presumably, an owl herself.

By derogation from our main subject, if we look at the gender here, Chris clearly had a harder guess in front of him; following an assumed path of deduction, he believed this name to be an extended and modified form of the regular "human" name "Lisa". By now, the ex-marshal noticed that these owls had a _clearly_ different variety of names, ranging from some that were recognisable towards ones that could _easily_ have fitted into a novel of the fantasy-genre. He was either correct, or he was incorrect: it did not necessarily change anything that was still ahead of him.

Changing back to our original course now, however; Markson's precedently emerged "author's note-foreword" issue was answered quickly, as the next page contained the so-far coveted, _real_ and genuine author's note, giving the ex-marshal an imaginary _slap_ that signaled how the turn of events came to be of his expectancy.

The consequent passage was read as it follows:

_War speeds up everything; not just the events and moments, not mentioning the months and years, but the essence of live for such souls that are deeply similar to me, those, who find the deep- and uttermost joy in knowledge and in its finding itself. Then again, finding knowledge is one thing._

_Creating it… that is an entirely different subject._

_The previous years have brought our scientific and technological knowledge further and further, stretching out optimistically as we kept grasping the notion of the unknown. Some of these discoveries could not have been made without the War against the Pure Ones though, some of our inventions definitely taking place on the helpful and positive side, but yet, still, the most of these creations were the tools of war, made to be used in battles; essentially, the instruments of death._

_It came to me as a pleasant surprise that the thirst for knowledge did not faltered as the years of peace came; even then, many with the levels of high potential pursued this style of life: to study, and to give the world something new with the power of enlightenment._

_Then again, knowledge, at the very exact point of time, can be our savior, and it can be our doom._

_Of what my research in this volume is about… I am not entirely sure which category it fits in; what I do know, however, is that this specific topic is within the realm of something that occured way before out time came to be._

_And it has the potential to ascend into something - something beyond our current imagination._

At the bottom of the above read author's note, there was some type of insignia, or picture: it had the shape of an owl - and it was rather non-specific, really; as if the „artist" had intended to keep the species of the little „logo" that way - with its wings covering its whole of the body, and only leaving the head in a visible range.

Albeit Barnes had almost missed it, there was a highly indistinguishable writing, exactly at the bottom of the page, not appearing as it would have been meant for the public, naked eye; for a guess, Markson would have took that the tool this was written down with was definitely graphite, however, believing that these owls might not have been at that point of chemistry yet, he settled with the presumption that this also could have been coal, given that would have fit the profile a bit more clearly - coal was easy to access, even for these owls.

Nevertheless, it is the word itself that matters, not the material (at least, Chris conjectured that it was a word; the inscription itself was rather difficult to take out, let alone to read); needing to squint to be able to understand the small lettering, the ex-marshal bent closer, so that his stakes of identifying the - assumed - word were in a higher possibility.

Attempting with all of his visual sense and power, Markson settled that the writing said _Illic_; now, of what this meant or was, the ex-marshal was entirely unsure, not even being in his „guessing-mood" at the given moment for this type of „riddle-like" things. If this would have been an investigation (Barnes had the _luck_, and has been a part in such events and „detective-duties" beforehand; preceding his position at the TSA, and being even earlier than his… _specialist_ jobs), Markson would have gave the preliminary report that the word itself was, _prima facie_, not in English; and, since he was not a linguistic-expert, his line of work would have ended here.

And, for now, it _will_ be temporarily put on a hold for an uncertain length of time, as the ex-marshal has already lifted the current page, the one he was studying so deeply (or, at least, its bottom right corner) a few moments ago, already settled upon the decision that, instead of figuring out what the word _Illic_ wished to tell him (or to anyone else to whom this little inscription might have, for now, laid undiscovered), he was going to turn to the next page, currently not taking on the potential challenge that the unknown lettering was holding.

If he has time, he might come back to it; only if he _had_ time.

On the following page, the listing of all chapters could be spotted, which Markson has now automatically skipped; not seeing a point in knowing of what was coming, he sighed, as the chances were that he probably could not have made sense of anything yet, especially if they were like regular chapters' names: appearing more _artistic_ than informative to the reader, who, in this case, was neither a scholar, nor an artist, thus, he would have been unable to _fully_ appreciate any of the above mentioned two things.

The next page was, finally, the part that Chris was searching for in the past minutes, which, although might have felt like a way more extended section of time, in reality, only a bare amount of four minutes have passed. Sometimes painful to hear, but, inevitably, _time is relative_.

Nevertheless, as he gently placed the freshly flipped page on the previously already read foreword, author's note, _and_ the front cover's inside, the first chapter unfolded in front of Barnes' eyes, bearing a not-so-intriguing title, more specifically stating, _The Others_; thinking back for a few seconds, Markson recalled that these „Others", whoever _they_ are, were also the prime subject the volume's main banner at its front, indicating, that, although they were yet unknown to Chris, they must have been the dominant subject of this book.

As from the name, the ex-marshal was, once again, unsure on what to think or to presume; as already stated above, the name _Others_ was quite unspecific, not really giving or taking away a clue from the solution, which was, of course, none other than the detailed description of what an _Other_ was.

Then again: _only_ if Barnes would have known... his thoughts and emotions at this very moment would have been extremely different from his current ones, which were, in effect, almost incommensurably opposing from one another; once again, the lack of essential insight was restricting Markson, and it took away the non-existent option of taking a shortcut in the process of gathering information that, if, afterwards, assembled in a way that was following logic, would assumably reveal the desired „truth" that Chris was currently searching for.

However, Barnes, who has not diverted to such a line of thoughts, has already began to read the first chapter, which he had _deeply_ hoped to be the starting point of what he _just_ required to be embarked on a journey that would, if one would think optimistically, lead to a few answers that, at the end of the day, were not a waste of time to acquire.

The previously mentioned chapter in question was read - exactly identical with Markson's interpretation:

_Before the War of the Ember, what is more, even before the time of our first rightful ruler, King Hoole, questions about a once - presumably - prospering species - only known to us as the Others - began to arise. Usually, the topics mainly consisted of the following: who were they, and what were they doing in this world? How come that we can still gaze upon and hold their buildings in high regard, even though they have been gone for approximately more thousand years? What was it that caused their extinction, marking the beginning of a new era?_

_And, finally, the least frequently asked question - however, I still personally believe that this is the most interesting of all: what if they are not extinct, dead, or gone, but are just purely... not here, within the border of our kingdoms or the land that is currently known to us, anymore?_

_To gain answers that - hopefully - will be sufficient enough for us to be satisfied with them, I hold myself to the idea of thorough research, study, and investigation, which three, by my own standards, are the mandatory constructional elements of an excellent conclusion and result._

_Taking that I have already done this myself, my Dear Reader, there is no further effort required here, just the reading, and, if the situation cries out for it, an ordinary skill for notetaking._

_First of all, I would analyse, in an additionally deeper style, one of the most usually asked question in this topic, this being the following._

After this point, the written text was a tiny bit larger than the previously read, leading Markson to believe that he have reached a sub-title, which signaled - as the author herself had mentioned in her words that were inscribed onto these papers long ago - the beginning of the first specific topic.

Chris sighed out loud, although this was not audible enough to be overly noticeable to anyone else who was currently dwelling in the library. If this carried on like this, Barnes was never going to find anything in this tightly limited time that was given to him by Valery; withal, what if she was already on her way to collect him? Not that he was not finished with his self-created duty in this grand-sized hollow, he, technically, had not even properly began yet! Additionally, thinking further ahead, where was he going to be placed then? Back in his „holding-cell" that was a small-sized hollow? This was all the freedom that he could manage to grab for himself?

Too many possible problems and conflicts arose in Markson's head, but the less progress he made with his attempt of finding answers; as his sub-conscious has sent him this cautionary message, essentially saying that he was wasting time, Barnes discontinued this type of thinking, and started to carry on with the ancient tome's reading.

_Who where the Others, and what were they doing in this world? Many are most interested by this single question from all the rest, which are - doubtlessly - still as important, yet, irrevocably, this was the uttermost commonest inquiry made towards this subject by the statistics and numbers._

_On the topic, I speculated that, in their own time and age, the Others were not that different from us; if we think about this previous sentence for a moment, I do not intend to make any suggestions towards their physical appearance: from artist-made sources (who, I suspect, also belonged to this now, presumably extinct species), we have solid evidence of what the Others were like in real life._

_Summed up, they were feather- and furless creatures who walked on two legs that were, stated primitively, were like sticks, and usually had a rather massive amount of fabrics on their bodies, supplemented with different garments that we would only use as special ceremonial costumes, such as robes, headwear, and, occasionally and rarely, weapons as well. Their... physiology was rather unusual, but I believe that they might have said the same about us if, of course, they would have lived long enough to come into contact with us._

_Back on our original track, however, I have mentioned that I live in the belief that the Others were - in their essence of life - not that heavily different from us; now, under this, of course, I mean that there are certain basic aspects that can be found in all advanced species of our current world: such things as community, compassion, specialisation, conflicts and war, the urge to survive by advancement. All are, in a way or another, are present in all owls, most birds, and a few other species (mainly dire wolves, and other, miscellaneous classes of animals)._

_From what pictures and references I have successfully acquired from a few different sources, I theorised that the Others were, in this perspective, the exact same as we were and are: their records mention scientific discoveries, wars that once occured on these lands, great and feared rulers that were in the highest positions that are imaginable (a few even comparing themselves to gods), and even maps of regions that, if gazed upon with our eyes, reveal nothing similar or familiar to our current world (I will divert to this at a later point)._

_Summing up the main question, the Others were just another species for another time, just as we are up to this very day; I believe that many have came before us, and the Others, and even more will come after we are gone. One day, our significance must end as well, just as the Others' did when their time came (or, by an alternative nature of thinking, when their time was up)._

_Who knows, maybe this whole world - maybe even Glaux herself - is waiting for a species that will be able to stand the tests of time forever, rising up as a champion of survival; maybe this is just an endless cycle where everyone, on one day, loses, and perishes._

_These are our questions to ask, but we are definitely not enough to answer them._

Already, at the paragraph that described the physical appearance of these so-called _Others_, Markson had began to suspect a few things: now, the „fur- and featherless" section partially gave away the whole of the answer towards Chris, who, using his common sense and logic, could only think of one species that fit this description, _and_ walked on two legs (the ex-marshal had actually laughed in his head when he read the words „sticks"; indeed, the expression on a biological field like this - such as the sentence that is now being referred to - was extremely ridiculous).

Albeit his suspicions on the credible and probable answer, Barnes could feel that he was diverting away from his self-stated objective once again; as an active response to this, he snapped out of his thoughts again, began to stare on the tome again, and continued on with his reading, which already reached up to the „second question" that was among the large-scale discussion.

_Next in the order comes our second question that is the most desired-to-be-found out, along with all the others: how come that we can still gaze upon and hold their (the Others') buildings in high regard, even though they have been gone for approximately more thousand years?_

_This one is tricky, as I do not categorise this myself as something important; yes, their constructed structures and buildings are still standing tall as landmarks in the different kingdoms of the South; yes, they are a quite a sight for our eyes to be feasted on, and bear remarkable motives on their out- and inside both, showing us an insight into the culture of a long-gone species._

_Do not misunderstand me though, Dear Reader, as I am not implying that I do not agree with the magnificence and grandiosity of these architectures; I was just, purely, unable to find their significance, or to connect them to anything in this current research I was conducting (which came to be this book, at one point)._

_I apologise to the admirers of this specific topic, but I am forced to grant a short answer to the question here: their structures were built strong and steady, as they have obviously managed to stand the tests of time; here, I could also bring up the topic that, if we think back to our Ga'Hoology lessons, we might recall that this Great Tree has also stood for more than a thousand years._

_Still, I was confronted by many of my students who have protested against my opinion on this topic, and, I must admit, they, among the rare few who were capable, managed to convince me to change my answer._

_However, this did not altered my opinion on the significance of the Others' buildings in this research, thus, I must settle with my earlier response to the stated question: there is not enough connection to be made, forcing me to mark this question as out-of-category, rendering it trivial._

Again, Chris made time for a small contemplation that he was going to participate in with only one attendant, who was, unsurprisingly, himself: no specific description was given at the latest topic about the style of architecture these _Others_ have had, and yet, if there would have been a drawing of a gothic church as an illustration in the book, the ex-marshal would not have honestly been surprised. By now, his suspicions grew more stronger, but - as the author has also mentioned in all of the above read - this matter, the one about the buildings and their durability, was not well-researched or critical enough to the whole of this „project" (Barnes found it more fitting to refer to this tome as this).

Instinctively by this point, Markson had put his thoughts aside, and placed his view back on the old volume again (although this was not mentioned up to this point, but, when diving into his own mind and thoughts, the ex-marshal concentrated his gaze on a distinctive point of the library, which was one of the empty-looking „private-perches").

_We have came to our third point in this research, namely, the third question we I am going to analyse, in detail, inside and out: what was it that caused their (the Others') extinction, marking the beginning of a new era that we exist in today?_

_Another common topic to be „dissected", if we play around with the words; many are settled with the theory that they just simply went extinct. Of course, if those so-called „many" would be my students, I would immediately ask them to forget this kind of simplistic ignorance: nothing, and I repeat clearly, nothing, goes „just" extinct! There was always a reason, and there will always be a reason._

_From the research I have conducted, I have come to the conclusion that it could not possibly have been the wilderness, weather, or, simply, the „World" that wiped the Others off from the face of this earth; their knowledge of sciences and technology was sufficient enough for survival, thus, we can strike this off from our imaginary list of causes._

_Even though I have checked through many possibilities, I feel partially ashamed, and partially intrigued that I can admit that I do not have a clear answer or theory. Some might ask, „why intrigued?" To this, I would simply reply, that I am not easily halted by something, especially not when it comes to research; to find a topic that manages to confuse and disorient me... that is just, simply, extraordinary!_

_But that is enough from myself; it is my list of theories that is important here and now._

_Not so long ago, we have began to use a system that calculates and organizes our days, months, and years; this is, of course, the Glauxian Calendar I am talking about, starting at the end of King Soren's - my old and dear friend's - ruling days; now, I came up with the theory that, according to speculation and to the belief in the system of pure coincidence, it is entirely possible that the Others have also had a similar system to organise their days, months, and years._

_I stand next to this theory very tightly, as I have also claimed that I have something that might as well count as a potential evidence._

_Back in the days of conflict and war, I have been asked a favor from another old friend of mine, Madame Plonk - the now, sadly, deceased singer of the Great Tree, may Glaux rest her soul - to hide an item that was highly precious and important to her; this item was something we call a „coronation cup", used as a decorative element on specific events of festivities and celebration; and yet, this one was special, for one small, albeit gigantic reason._

_It had an inscription on its outer body, saying „Queen E. - 1953."; as probably expected by you now, Dear Reader, none of us have even suspected what this has meant back then, but, glancing back at this now, I am confident that we have our first clue on the matter of the Others' extinction._

_I would theorise that this number is, in fact, an actual date from the time of the Others; I hope I am not alone with this, and many understand how astonishing this discovery is!_

_Proceeding further once again; let us just take a look at these numbers that are mentioned above! One-nine-five-three; ask me, and I would state that this appears to be, by all means, a rather massive digit and value._

_Taking that our recorded history began more than a thousand years ago, we could drift along with the idea that this was a quite latter stage during the existance of the Others; however, the word „Queen" is still a great question to me. Is it possible that us and this long-extinct species have not just shared the same basic ideologies, but have also used a similar „language"? Did they have the knowledge of what the Hoolian or Krakish sounded like?_

_After all, it is evident that they have used the same words as us, as countless of their works and writings remained intact during the passing ages, and, so far, their language appears to be almost precisely like ours._

_Does this means something? Is it just a pure coincidence? I am required to repeat myself, but these are only our questions; answers have to be given by someone else, either in the near or the far future._

_Returning to my original line of thought, I wish to show up a few more bits of both confirmed and potential clues._

_The entire story of the Band and the Chaw of Chaws was inscribed onto paper, thus, referring to their stories and experiences should not be new to anyone._

_During the aftermath of King Coryn's official first arrival to the Tree, the then already conspicuous Ember of Hoole gained a largely increased attention from a few, even those who were members of our Parliament back then (I do not wish and will not mention any names; such occurrences are enough for one time, it is good if they could be forgotten)._

_Nevertheless, this conflict died away in a relatively short timespan (then again, it always seems longer if you are living it); consequently, the discovery of the Sixth Kingdom came, and this, although at that point this was just simply unbeknownst to us, but this finding has also brought along the madness that we either knew as Orlando, or, more infamously, The Striga._

_During the time he was poisoning our dear Coryn's mind, rules and regulations were applied; such that should never see the light of the sun, or the shine of the stars, ever again._

_Well, I reckon that some things have to be forgotten, no matter what; but then again, would not that betray us ourselves? We are not just here to live and to change history, we are also here to record it. Nothing is ever forgotten; especially not acts of murder._

_The murder of knowledge._

_Not seen by us for quite a while, but The Striga somehow managed to gain control over King Coryn, who, afterwards, temporarily became a „puppet" for the blue owl; his decisions where The Striga's decisions, in fact, that bird was the only one who was allowed to see him!_

_It was then that the burning of the books has began; all types, regardless of their value, age, or origin, all were doomed to be reduced the ash, by The Striga's style of thinking._

_This concluded in the establishment of the Place of Living Books; owls who have dedicated their time to this duty have memorised books of by heart, to be prepared for the possibility of all written copies of knowledge being destroyed._

_I know, I know; I have got off the main topic of this research again. In my defense, I wish to add that this prelude, in this case, was required, as not many know the more... „secret" adventures the Band or the Chaw of Chaws have had._

_Anyhow, to hurry towards my point, I will say names - two, to be pedantically exact: playwright Shakes, and author Ray Brad, considered by evidence to be Others._

_Their works have also had a long number - possibly a date - on them, leading me to believe that we could, roughly, close in on the date of when this species has disappeared from these lands._

_Shakes' works are dotted around the number 1599., but one of his surviving creations - only known by the name „Macbeth" - has the description of 1604., 5th of September, a very specific and promising „date", albeit I - and others as well - have no clear idea on what „September" might be; if it is a season, that is another similarity between us and them. However, if not, then we stand with another small, yet potentially meaningful unsolved mystery._

_The other one, Ray Brad, has written a number of different books that we have recovered and stored, although some of them have faded away and seem to be damaged in more than one way; due to this, his works are normally not touched, and instead, they are kept separately, hidden away at the Great Tree, so only those with proper authorisation will be able to find them._

_I must say... I have read one or two of his books, and, I must admit: they were not written for us. The events and occurrences that came to pass in those stories (at least, I do well hope that they were just stories) were..._

_They were not simply frightening; they were depicting futures that, if they had came to pass... it would be almost unbelievable. Those who wish to go through shock I experienced while reading these can request access to them from the book matron in the Great Library._

_Still, I must repeat: these were not written for us. It was for another species, for another time; honestly? I personally believe that these should have stayed hidden and lost at they place they have came from. Such dark ideas... Glaux; I do hope that these were only ideas, and that I was not reading some... twisted form of a history book._

_Yet, it is not my feelings about these writings that are important here; the date between the pages though - that does: 1953., way after the creation of playwright Shakes._

_Hereby, I will look at this number as the very final known point in the Others' history; not only because it is the largest digit I was able to uncover during my research, but also due to the fact that it clearly matches up with the coronation date of our assumed Queen E._

_To answer the main question of this single topic, I was only able to construct a short and shamefully simplistic response and explanation; to all these questions and clues, to all these enigmas I am attempting to crack! Essentially, to the whole, massive mystery of who the Others are, and how, when, and why they have went extinct, or disappeared, I could only comment with the following words._

_I have not a clue._

_Of course, the most basic and accepted theories would be extinction due to a war or conflict with a heavy or extreme outcome, or destruction by knowledge and technology (with this, I am referring to the Ember itself; let us just think about, how long would our species be in peace if it was around and publicly known? I consider that artifact to be in the possession of powers beyond our wildest imaginations, able to destroy a whole existent world if some mad-minded owl - or any other advanced animal - would come to such an ill mindfit that would result in such an event)._

_Now I am stating another question; what if the Others destroyed themselves, but not by the outcomes and the effects of war? What if their reliance on their knowledge was so great and overexaggerated that - slowly, yet inevitably - they have failed on a level?_

_Then again, this poses even more questions that could be asked: how far are we allowed to venture before we reach a certain point in advancement that can be dangerous? How do we know where to pull the imaginary line of caution?_

_Honestly, I would conclude with the theory that the Others were exceptionally advanced on their own fields of science and technology; we should not be even near to that level, thus, we can calm ourselves down and think without fear that, for now and for at least a hundred years, we are safe._

_Dear Reader, from all the above, please collect and assemble what is useful to you - personally - as an answer; these were my thoughts on a topic that even the most brightest of our time can hardly grasp; it is painful for me to admit, but even I have difficulties in even mentally comprehending all these that I have researched._

_This was as if like I was looking for the meaning of our existence - „philosophy", the Others titled this style of thinking, if I recall correctly; a topic that is out of the reach of the normal owl-mind._

_Even now, Dear Reader, we still have a last and final question to analyse ourselves through; namely, this would be, and I quite my own self from a few pages earlier, „What if they (the Others) are not extinct, dead, or gone, but are just purely... not here, within the border of our kingdoms or the land that is currently known to us, anymore?_

_The most interesting topic, I dare add, purely for the reason that this question in itself is a theory, showing us an alternative that, if we think openly, would reveal itself to be not a pointless and meaningless topic to discuss, but a whole new research that we could venture towards._

_I have consulted many of those who have travelled outside our currently ruled and overwatched borders, and, despite my natural aging (that, I have to admit, is rather slow, now that I bring it up), even I have took a light little flight trip to some of our outer-regions._

_On my journeys, I have discovered that..._

For the past five seconds, something abrupt and loud was disrupting Markson, although he took a heavy hold of concentration on himself, so he was still able to understand the words, despite the fact that his attention was attempting to divert to some other point of interest.

Soon, he had to realise that what he carried on with was not working, thus, he glanced up from the ancient tome, and snapped his head around in a roughly seventy-to-eighty degrees angle.

Although it took him a negligible amount of time, but Chris - promptly - had to realise that someone was calling out his name; the strangest thing was, that this whoever was shouting his _actual_ name, and not that „Silverbeak" title that an unknown owl has placed on him.

\- Markson! - a distinctively female voice yelled into the so-far undisturbed and tranquil silence of the library, attracting a lot more other looks, if Barnes is excluded himself from the total amount of owls who have currently dwelled in this hollow - Markson! - the shout could be heard again, but, on this occasion, the ex-marshal had already began to track down the origin-point of the sound.

In two seconds flat, he has successfully acquired Valery with his eyes, who was, by this current moment, being approached by Lyran, the latter visually appearing to have shrunken in size; Markson could only conclude that, for some yet unknown reason, his „temporal warden" was either afraid of the female owl, or this was only an elementary sign and routine of respect.

Although the two were presently standing on the other end of the library, Chris was still - partially - able to perceive a few words, and, from those, he had constructed entire sentences, using a bit of common sense here and there.

\- Lyran, I have clearly said thirty minutes; not forty, not fifty. _Thirty_ \- she told the Barn owl, who was still in his panicked posture; even from this distance, Barnes was able to tell that he was aiming to avoid eye contact.

\- He was doing his... his research, I did not wanted to snap him out of it...! - Lyran was hopelessly trying to come up with half-correct reasons to explain the situation; not surprisingly at all, he was failing this little task, which the ex-marshal could, without any strenuous effort, tell from Valery's facial expression.

\- Next time, you _will_ snap him out of it, alright? - she stated her rhetorical question, to which the answer was clearly „yes" from the Barn owl's side, although that response stayed unpronounced.

Seeing this as the potential and perfect moment for him to reappear, Markson left the volume on its own, and casually began to walk towards the female owl...

Or, at least, he would have, but Valery seemed to have had a swifter reaction than him, as she was already on her way, talking while walking towards the ex-marshal, Lyran closely following in her wake.

\- I just want to be sure; is it „Markson"? - this hit Chris a bit unexpectedly, even though this was the third time that he has heard his name, only today, in the relatively compressed amount of four minutes. Seeing that she was just confusing Barnes, the owl attempted to reassure him, so she asked her question again - Is that your so _secret_ name? „Markson"? - it took him a second, but the ex-marshal successfully replied.

\- How did you...? - well, not exactly _replied_; the now minorly disoriented Barnes became even surprised and (positively) shocked at the female owl's next sentence.

\- ...Know? - Valery quickly finished of Markson's half-complete verbalised thought, then proceeded with her own - Matthias told me; he still remembered, even after you... subdued him. I believe that your name has been burned into his brain for a lifetime after the scene that you have pulled off in the infirmary! - she laughed, however, the ex-marshal did not joined her in this social interaction.

„Felias, you lying bastard!", he thought as a massive burden has just fallen off from his heart (all metaphorically, of course); so this meant that he did not took an innocent life, and was not a murderer. So far, everything seemed decent.

\- Well, I hope you have had fun reading... - began Valery, peeking over Chris, taking a glance at the still open tome that now just simply sat on its holder, waiting for the ex-marshal to return to it.

But this was not how the events were bound to carry on; destiny had something else for Markson, something a lot more complicated than reading.

\- This might sound a bit unusual now, but... - started the female owl, deliberately avoiding eye contact with Barnes - I will need you to come with me to Ambala - she somehow _sighed_ these words out, probably even herself not entirely sure of what she wanted to accomplish with this.

\- Okay - answered Markson willingly; he was granted partial freedom, and was willing to co-operate now, as long as no aggression was involved; what an irony was that he did not knew of what he had just replied „okay" to! - Where is this „Ambala", higher up in the tree? - he asked, hoping that he sounded smart enough; once again, the _irony_.

As a simplistic response, Valery just shook her head with a smiling expression.

\- Lower? - tried again Chris, but the same reaction was received by him for once again; if none of the two options were correct, he truly had no idea of what the female owl was talking about.

\- Not at this Tree; over the ocean, a little flight towards the South-East. Where we need to go is at the outskirts, so it will not take as long to get there - these words had panicked Barnes; as soon as he has heard the word _flight_, he had automatically decided on a decline.

However, he needed to realise that he was not going to be off-the-hook this easily.

\- You have considered that I cannot fly, correct? How am I even supposed to get there this way? - Markson was sure that this would instantly get him out from this trouble that he had not wished for; once again, his assumption was incorrect.

\- I have an idea... - she said knowingly, appearing to be half in thought, half in reality - Just follow me to the take-off branches! - and, with this, she walked off, albeit this time Barnes knew that he was required to go with her.

As if he had wished for outside help, Chris turned his head and glanced over at Lyran, who just shrugged, and nodded towards the still open volume:

\- I should pack up - he said in a neutral style, although Markson has found it rather miserable; leaving all the work to him again... this was just so damn impolite - Good luck out there! - this was his farewell as he turned and began to walk towards the ancient tome.

\- Thanks - replied Barnes in a low volume, almost as if he was talking to himself, and started to walk after Valery, following her to the above mentioned location.


	10. In Which We Meet Irvis, For Another Time

**New chapter, polished and uploaded.  
In the timespan between this and my previous upload, I had noticed that two people have (probably just by pure coincidence) posted reviews with questions included in them; now, if anyone would wish to act similarly, I can only encourage it. I would love to answer my readers' questions, of course, only to an extent that does not compromises the whole storyline.  
So, if there is anyone out there with questions, go ahead, and ask them! I would gladly respond to any inquiries.**

_**I do not own the Guardians of Ga'Hoole series.  
****I take all characters that do not belong to Kathryn Lasky as my own characters and creations.**__**_**  
**_**__**The Federal Air Marshal Service and the Transportation Security Administration are not my creations.**_

In Which We Meet Irvis, For Another Time

_Northern-Ambala, Southern-Kingdoms_

_Close to 1:20 a.m._

_Christopher Barnes Markson, ex-TSA_

The night whizzed by as the yesterday had already turned into tomorrow - which, all in all, could easily have been classified as _today_ \- the stars still shining bright and clearly on the undisturbed night sky, although they were hardly able to compete with the - almost - moon, covering everything in with its majestic light, painting the whole world in a silvery-gray tinge. It was close to one-in-the-morning, in fact, it had probably gone past it; Markson was unable to give an accurate guess - he has lost his sense of time since he has been... „thrown" into this world.

The early evening, the night, and the dawn-time aurora; all of these were the times when these nocturnal creatures - only known as owls - would usually rise and live out their potential; commonly known facts by everyone, which should not earn a special reaction or amazement from anyone.

Albeit that he was the same (and, maybe he even knew a bit more), Chris could not help, but keep his eyes wide open, which appeared to be sticked onto the peculiar sight in front of him: a half-marshland, half-forest situated ahead of him, dotted around with taller and shorter trees, keeping a unique randomness to the whole of the Forest of Ambala, a name that the ex-marshal still could not quite remember when asked about, even after the twentieth mention of it.

The wind created by the air's resistance and friction kept drying his eyes clean, causing that familiar minor stinging feeling (which was hardly pain) that _anyone_ would have easily recognised; and yet, despite the discomfort, Barnes held himself up straight, ignoring the ocular irritation, scanning across the unbelievably beautiful and - almost - un- and surreal landscape that was laid out all around him.

Never in his life he had gazed upon such a sight; he was so perplexed by the beauty that he had even forgotten that, in the current moment, he was at least ten meters above sea level, an uncomfortable height, especially for someone like him.

\- Five minutes 'til landing! - shouted an owl from somewhere that was, at this current moment, invisible to Chris; he was nowhere near comfortable to look around and to locate the speaker. Instead, he did the easiest of all deeds: nothing.

Although it was only a few minutes until their final arrival, Markson began to ignore both the altitude and the forest's sight ahead of him, and ventured into a personal flashback; back to the point while he still had feet („talons", however, would be a more fitting word) on the ground - on a few branches and the bark, at least.

The time when Valery was explaining the point of this whole trip they taking to him; minutes before the ex-marshal has almost threw up, due to his extreme levels of adrenaline that were induced by pure stress, and, partially, _fear_.

_40 minutes earlier..._

_Arrival and Take-Off Branches, Great Ga'Hoole Tree, Southern-Kingdoms_

_Close to 0:40 a.m._

_Christopher Barnes Markson, ex-TSA_

\- ...So you are saying that, after all the hostility and non-existent assistance I have showed towards most of you owls I have met, my presence was requested at some type of... „crime-scene"? - asked the confused and surprised Barnes from Valery at the entrance and exit point of the library; the female owl has apparently expected him to process a massive amount of the newly acquired information in a matter of seconds. Evidently, the ex-marshal have failed at this, thus, his female companion saw that repeating her sentence in a slower and more informative way would be rather... profitable, especially if she had wanted Barnes to comprehend of what she was attempting to explain - at least before the sun began to rose. That would have been satisfyingly convenient.

\- Fine, I will repeat it for another time... - began Valery, this accompanied with a sigh, although, at this very point, Markson was not caring to listen anymore; but let us not believe that this was from sheer rudeness, what reason would the ex-marshal would have had for such an action, anyway?

No; Chris was just, simply, focusing on other matters at that time, matters that have been grinding in his brain for the past few minutes. The so-called _facts_ and _tales_ that book was talking about - the ones that were frightfully similar to those of what the ex-marshal thought them to be.

„Where the hell am I?", questioned Markson himself, however, obviously, no one (not even his own self) has gave an answer; „If this is reality, and if this is _not_ my world, then _where_ am I?". He could have kept on trying, but he swiftly recognised the fact that the probability of receiving any type of response was near zero - if it was not the number that represented the word „nothing" itself.

If he would have wished to construct a solid conclusion from all the evidence that was gatherable from that old volume, Barnes would have went along with the idea that this was just a weird coma-dream - interestingly enough, some parts of his brain were still stuck at this part of processing everything around him, thus, this is a theory to be ignored.

It was clear that this „Strix Otulissa" was referring to humans when she had started to describe those „creatures without feather or fur, who have used to walk on two legs"; it was rather obvious, especially to someone, who had - now only formerly - belonged to that species (this being our ex-marshal here, clearly).

Still, the section that has caused an extreme shock and fright to Markson was that this long-deceased owl has mentioned that these... „Others", or whatever they were called, became, due to a few unknown circumstances, became extinct (however, here, Barnes could have practised a bit more respect, taking that he was, currently, talking about humans; then again, _we_ know that he was conversing with himself about his own kind - _he_ could not possibly have been entirely sure on that matter). How on Earth could humanity has become extinct? Two days ago, there were no problems, everyone was alive, unless...

Unless that lighting bolt that has struck down the aircraft was a... _modest_ pre-warning for the soon-occuring apocalypse; but then again, Markson was not a fan of such ideologies - supernatural powers destroying life as we know it, the world's ending in a predicted analysis; if anything, he laughed at them, although, at the same time, maintained the respect for those who have truly believed in such events or phenomenon.

„No - such things do not happen. Especially not without proper foreshadowing", he had thought bitterly, reluctant about the main idea in its whole.

Yet, what he had read was rather daunting; of what he has understood from the text, there were still remnants of buildings and structures that could be found world-wide (whatever size or discovered landmass that was), signaling the subsistence of a once prospering and growing civilisation.

Plus, there was that other piece of information, the two - what is more, three - names; William Shakespeare, Ray Bradbury, and, most significantly, Elizabeth II, the current Head of the Commonwealth. If these were not enough evidence to prove that that book was _most assuredly_ alluding towards humanity itself, Markson would have - personally - jumped off the edge, and would have voluntarily plummeted to his definite and inevitable death. _This_ was the amount of how much he had settled with his idea that he was correct - and, although, once again, he could not have known that at this point, but he was, _de facto_, correct: this _was_ about humans, however, Chris was not sure if the significance of this fact here was either enormous, or nugatory - a value that he would have required for further mental processing.

Then, since the previously mentioned information was currently not accessible, Barnes gave up with his lines of thought about that old tome, and closed down the conversation with one final, yet certainly decisive note: once he is back from... „Bamala", or, whatever it was, his first doing will be to have a nice and long private-conversation with Felias, or, now also known as by Chris as the „son of someone whom he did not have a great relationship with"; it was dirty play, but, if this would lead the ex-marshal to further information and knowledge about his current situation, he was the most willing to take the risk.

Hitherto, Markson was deeply buried in his own and personal thoughts, however; after coming to the realisation that, for yet another time, someone was calling out his name - repeatedly, at that - the ex-marshal has snapped his head up, as if he had just awoke from a dream of horroristic realisations.

\- ...Markson? Are you even listening to me? - it required two seconds for Chris to recognise the voice, as he had heard it enough times by now; in addition, Valery was the only one who has, apparently, knew his _genuinely_ real name.

\- Hm? - asked back the mildly disoriented Barnes, shaking his head, as if that would have cleared out his skull from all the residue of his previous line-of-thought; lucidly, this should not have worked. This was why it did not - Sorry, uh, what were you saying again? I got a bit carried away - admitted the ex-marshal with a minor embarrassment and shame displayed on his beaked face - What are we doing Bamala...

\- _Ambala_ \- whispered Valery as discreetly as humanly (or, in this case, _avianly_) accomplishable, not attracting a single glance from any of the owls that were passing next to them, this being in a massive contrast with Chris' false pronunciation; however, to shorten this story down, let us just state that, when the word „Bamala" came out from Markson's beak, not only one head turned towards him.

\- Okay, my apologies - intervened the ex-marshal, then carried on with his original plan of a statement - So, what are we doing in Ambala again? - as a reaction to this, Valery's orange-tinged eyes opened wide as she was barely able to contain herself from bursting out in a sky-shaking laughter.

\- Oh, so you have ceased to listen to me at _that_ point! - spoke the female owl, undoubtedly feeling funny about this, and yet, her frustration of Chris ignoring her when she was talking was easily detectable in her voice's tone - We are far past that by now - at this sentence, Chris exchanged a glance that was shouting out loud that he did not understand; as a reply to this, Valery spoke for another time - We have arrived to our take-off point, Markson - she said, and gestured with her left wing towards an enormous set of branches.

But let there be no mistake made here: it was not the physical and visual _size_ of these tree-outcroppings that were colossal as tangible entities, but the number, the amount of these branches; now, that was an unbelievably excessive and immense number, one of a value that could have been close to at least forty, maybe even reaching up to fifty. Yes, we could argue that, when spoken out loud, this amount was not that remarkable at all; now, hopefully, here, we would still consider that we are currently discussing a tree, a gigantic one at that, thus, we should be at least a _bit_ amazed by the above mentioned number.

Anyway, Markson's wonderment did not lasted as long as this description, as he, at the end of the day, was just glancing upon a great collection of branches, with a few owls of different species perching or landing here and there on them.

\- Now, we already have an escort team ready and waiting for us... - albeit the fact that she was still early into her sentence, Chris has already interrupted; in his defense it stands that this action was induced by pure curiosity.

\- An „escort team"? - he asked, sounding partially surprised, and partially doubtful with his tone - Why do we require escort? Are we expecting hostility from some other owls? - this last sentence was only meant as a joke by Barnes, however, to Valery (and to anyone else who was currently listening in on their conversation), it probably had sounded totally serious; indeed, it was obvious that Markson had not yet „tapped out" which topics were sensitive to these owls, and which were not.

\- Hardly; no one would attack us openly - she had took it seriously, unluckily to the ex-marshal, however, this did not impacted on anything - _Yet_, what I am afraid of is that we might have to catch you mid-air, especially if you are as bad with flying as you have previously said you are! - now, _this_ has made an impact; more specifically, on Markson's heartrate, and his mood. In an instant, the ex-marshal has suddenly changed from his previous joke and his calm thinking to panicking thoughts racing through his head as he has heard that one single word that had struck _fear_ into his brain: _flying_.

By now, many had probably gave this a thought; why had a person, who is _terrified_ of flight to such an extreme degree, has decided on the job that involves almost _constant_ flight from one place to the other? Now, if he would have been randomly asked this on the street, Markson would have replied with an already pre-constructed explanation - which he had devised and learned off by heart; _I have no fear of indoors flight and aircraft - it is really the nature of my job and the chance of death that pulls my nerves_.

Thinking deeply into it, this was a fair reasoning; _many_ have an (almost) _phobia_ against being thirty-thousand feet up in the sky, unable to chase away the thoughts of potential system-failures, terrorist-attacks, or _literally_ catastrophic-weather - and, without panicking _anyone_, all of these were reasonably realistic, however, with a ridiculously minimal chance of occurrence, of course.

Thus, logically, Chris should not, rationally, have been afraid of _anything at all_ \- then again, you could keep telling this to someone who had, just a few days ago (if his sense of time was, at least, a little bit correct) encountered _and_ survived a rather extreme terrorist attack, then, apparently, managed to not die in an obviously fatal crash (of which's circumstances where still unclear to him); this event on the 23rd of October was, after all, incredibly rare, simultaneously crossing off _two_ categories of aircraft-disasters from the above mentioned imaginary list.

Veritably though, what the ex-marshal had survived (as an _operational-marshal_) was a heavily trivial case, and, with hope and positivity, will not occur _ever_ again. Such a tragedy was... hard to _digest_ by a nation, let alone a whole world!

Without sidetracking our conclusion, the main reason of why Barnes had just gained a usually uncomfortable heart-beat speed and frequency was due to the fact that, if agreeing to this, he knew what was to come; sitting in an airplane, _inside_ a craft, should not have been an extremety to any living person, especially not in today's high-technological and advancing world.

Now _flying_ in the open air - that was different; an excessively obsessed fan of birds would, no doubt, have had a wish towards the ability to fly as a creature to which they show such an amount of interest, respect, and wonderment towards (judged to be quite _weird_ by Markson, personally thinking this himself), and, if we think about it in a partially philosophical, and partially „everyday" style, what percentage of humanity would have resisted or declined the chance of rising from the ground, and conquering the sky? Quite an unusual idea - it is imaginable that many would deem this to be a form of madness; maybe not from refusal, but from the fear of flight itself (which connects back to our main point).

It was, as a matter of fact, peculiar to play around with the thought that Chris, although being at the brink of this great opportunity that was, presumably, _never_ experienced by any _human_ in the real world that he could think about, he was mostly vouching for _not_ flying; if we think about it, there are many opportunities that „pop up" to us in life, and we - either from pure disinterest, or, expectably, _fear -_ push them aside as we decline them.

What were these acts induced by; _us_, taking our lives to be precious, and being afraid of losing it (which was, without question, a truly understandable way of thinking), or, maybe, because we are just simply kept in dread and terror by the _unknown_ on a daily basis? There is the fair question to prove this: if once came the day, how would you defeat someone or something that you do not know?

Many ideologies, yet not as many answers; another day in the world of contemplation. Then again, with sufficient thinking, are not all answers are supposed to be acquirable?

Nonetheless, let us place the philosophy aside for this current moment, and begin to concentrate on Markson's task at hand, once again.

\- Ah... okay, now hold on for a minute there! - said Barnes, starting to slowly walk backwards (as an unconscious reflex) from the take-off and landing branches, and Valery's „escort-team" - How where you thinking of me doing this, exactly? - in the current moment, the ex-marshal was taken aback by his female companion's latest statement; him, flying - how on Earth that should have been possible in the first place? Not only we were talking about someone who was almost „allergic" to flights, but we were currently discussing one that was only an owl for the total length of a grand eight days.

Valery, however, without any sign of „being-stuck" on her face, began to explain, in a surprisingly detailed fashion, of how this transportation was going to work:

\- We have a method for weak flyers, but I believe that we can adapt it for your case as well - she began, and, in the meanwhile, she signaled Markson with one talon to halt his backing-away, and to proceed forward until he has reached a publicly agreeable distance - Fundamentally, all _you_ would be required to is to just keep your wings unfolded and wide-open - carried on the female, demonstrating to Chris with her own pinions of what she has meant (in the case if Barnes had wandered-off again in thought; happily, this time, he did not) - You would be flying - well, technically, _floating_ \- centre-point of the spearhead-formation the rest of team will construct mid-air; this will create a vacuum and updraft, which will allow you to stay afloat _without_ as such as a wing-stroke - she concluded her sentence, and looked into Markson's eyes, awaiting a type of response that would suggest that he has understood and processed the sentences that Valery _just_ formulated together.

The clear answer was, however, hinted and indicated by the ex-marshal's following reaction.

\- I am not sure if I get it... - began Chris, unsure and uncertain about what to say; the previous explanation contained an overwhelming amount of unknown (well, not exactly unknown, but, more precisely, non-contextual enough for the ex-marshal) information - So... what vacuum is created by what? - when it came to aerodynamics, Markson was not the best bet for anyone.

\- I see that we will have a few potential problems here - said Valery, but more to herself than to Chris, or any other owls that were surrounding them at the take-off branches - All you need to know for now, is that the _stirrs_ created by those who fly in front of you will keep you in the air; basic enough? - inquired the female owl, minorly sarcastic with her tone, attempting to communicate to (at least) Barnes' subconscious that there was nothing complicated in her previous explanation.

\- _Basic enough_ \- responded the ex-marshal, who, by this point, managed to successfully receive the „message", and got the point that the owl was making towards him. It was not his fault that they were using a context in his vicinity that he could not fully comprehend to; that was just, simply, not the way this worked.

\- Alright; now, your best chance to catch this updraft will be if you wait for us, the whole team, to make a fly-by, and, if you could, at the right moment, make a jump for it, you could, in theory, fall onto the vacuum, which would drag you along - she has nodded to one of the owls that were perching on the take-off and landing branches; until this moment in time, they were standing by for their „orders" - Got that? Alright, I will see you in the air... - she was about to unfold her wings and to take flight, but, not allowing her to do this, Markson has interrupted her with a verbal-interference.

\- _Whoa_, hold on their for a minute! - he sounded panicked again, and attempted to mimic the human hand gesture of „stop" with his wings; this, in many aspects, has partially failed - You do not _actually_ expect me to... to just do this _right now_ \- frustration has also entered his voice, which's volume was now minimally raised - I am not even able to fly, let alone _float_ by some aerodynamical-nonsense! - agitation now surfaced; Chris was just like a person who was unable to handle the stress created by an appointment to a dentist or odontologist. To a certain extent, he was overreacting, but he was also bearing a valid reason for this style of reaction.

\- Fine then! - spoke Valery in a calm and rigid fashion, although, to Barnes, it had felt like that she was shouting at a painful level of volume; of course, in reality, she was peaceful and quiet - If you can give my any usable ideas in the next... - she scanned across the sky, carefully watching the position of the moon and the stars; by some unusual and complex (as it had seemed to the ex-marshal) procedure, she was able to tell the approximate time; still, she did not shared it with Markson - ...let us say, five minutes, I will go with that; if not, you are doing what I have just proposed - no alternatives - she announced her final saying to Chris, who, not being incoherent _now_, began to swiftly scan around, hoping that some kind of an idea would form itself in his head. Who knows, maybe spotting something would outset a series of thoughts in his head, that, with a small amount of luck, would conclude in a usable alternative.

Right now, _anything_ appeared to be a perfect idea to Chris - this illusion in his brain being induced by his previously explained fear of open-air flight. Gazing around, searching for a solution... his skull was swimming with various thoughts and choices to make; „Come on, Chris, you are a resourceful guy! Just figure something out and go ahead with it! Remember, _anything_, but flight!", he told himself to keep his mind focused on this single point.

Nevertheless, ostensibly, this negative-motivator functioned efficiently, as Markson almost shouted out the following words that, when assembled into a sentence, gave a complete picture of his idea of an alternative solution.

\- Brake off a branch - he said, quietly first, then, to strengthen his statement, the ex-marshal has raised his voice higher on the hearability-scale - Brake off a branch, I will explain the details! - as for his second try, Chris also improved his declarative sentence into an exclamatory sentence, definitely giving off a better amount of confidence to all the owls that were currently surrounding him in this area of the take-off branches.

However, his expanding confidence was short-lived, as Valery gave an almost instant refusal:

\- I am not sure on what your intentions are, but I can tell you right now that we are _not_ going to damage the Tree by braking off a branch! - order and rigor was now forming a part of the female owl's tone; on the spur of a moment, she, without warning, became rather authoritative.

\- Then find one that was _already_ broken off by... I do not know, a storm! You are the one that lives here! - Barnes retaliated with well-hidden sarcasm (at least, that was what he thought, but soon had to realise that it was not as well-concealed as he believed it to be); after his style of a response though, he had expected Valery to verbally-decimate him, but, no such thing has occurred.

Apparently, the female owl was able to see that the ex-marshal's newly made and rephrased claim was more acceptable, and thus, she turned to two owls who were the part of the „escort-team".

\- Hakan, Marek, would you please go and find a few broken branches for our associate here? - the two birds nodded (one being a dark-coloured Barn owl - probably taking place as a subspecies in the genus - and the other one appearing to be from an unknown species to Chris), and lighted off from the branches, then turned into a nose-dive, soon disappearing from the ex-marshal's visual range.

Consequently after the two have disappeared, Valery walked closer to Markson; first, just to a suitable and generally accepted distance, however, opposing to the ex-marshal presumption, this - roughly - thirty centimeters was not kept; instead, the female owl had closed in on Barnes, only being a few inches away from his face and beak as she began to lecture him - and, may we add, in an _absolutely not_ contented or satisfied way.

\- Do not misuse your well-earned freedom _now_, Markson - she spoke in a cautionary and (somehow) ominous style, although Barnes had the vague feeling that she was not _exactly_ scolding or reprimanding him; it was almost as if she was attempting, somewhere _deep down_, to save Chris from ending up in a cell-hollow for another time - There are not many who trust you; I might be the only one in this current moment, so, _please_, do not mess this up! - now, this sounded more like a friendly request and suggestion-of-behavior towards Markson, who was about to answer, but was met with Valery's words - When I referred that we require your help, I _meant it_. So, please, do not be a pain, and make this an easy run for both of us, agreed? - somehow, from the start of her speech, where she was _clearly_ berating the ex-marshal, the female owl had, slowly, but surely, descended into a non-hostile solicitation.

„Temporal anger" was not a foreign notion to Chris, taking that this could be found in most humans in the world - maybe the rare few, who are able to control their nerves and feelings _unbelievably _well, could be count-out as an exception from this statement.

\- Agreed - replied Markson with a non-specific tone of voice; it was just a clear „yes" that he was pronouncing, thus, his emotional status did not altered towards any recognisable profile, not negative, nor positive; just an everyday verbal-response, that was all.

In the meantime, the two owls (Hakan, the dark-coloured barn owl, and Marek, who still belonged to a species of owls that was yet unknown to the ex-marshal), with not one branch, not _two_, but an entire _sector_ of branches, outcropping in all directions physically imaginable; they have set it down on the wooden platform on which Chris and Valery were standing on, and turned their eyes towards the former, and the latter, awaiting any further requests that might be made towards them.

Since Barnes was not _entirely_ satisfied with the result that he was given, the two needed not to wait for an extended period in time.

\- Fine, that will do - Markson began, keeping a positive starting-tone, so he would not instantly suggest that the owls' effort were in vain; in fact, he was not, to the most minimal measure, thinking that this branch was useless. It was only a bit of _afterwork_ that he was wishing to apply to it - As a last thing, could I ask you two to break off a few outcrops from it? - the two receivers of this request exchanged a puzzled glance, then began to work on Chris' idea.

\- What are you planning, Markson? - inquired Valery with genuine curiosity, turning her gaze towards the subject of her question, tilting her head in a similar fashion, implying that she was, indeed, interested in a proper answer.

\- We need a branch that is, more or less, straight, and has no small outcroppings on it - explained Barns as he had returned the glance to the female owl, the two's eyes now locking together again; there was something in her eyes that comforted _and_ bothered the ex-marshal in the same time. Nevertheless, he continued his summary - One of them will hold it on the left, the other one will keep a grip on the right side, and I will sit... uh, _perch_, I think, on the branch itself - Valery here gave him an unsure and perplexed stare, also placing a light smile on the top of these.

\- ...Are you sure about that? - she asked, not convinced and rather doubtful with her sentence - You do not want to lose your grip, then fall to your death, do you? - honest worry and intimidating facts were mixed in the previous, forcing Markson to figure out an acceptable response to this warning, which was stated as a question.

\- Well, I do not need to worry about that; I will be fine, no matter what happens with my grip - even if I fall! - he declared with a high level of confidence, causing Valery to laugh at this claim in a slight manner.

\- What makes you so sure about that? - she responded with another question, the above mentioned smile still lingering around on her face, with her yellow eyes shining with a glow of excitement.

\- That you will catch me if I fall - Chris delivered his ending line, to which the female owl's reaction was another three seconds of light laughter (in actuality, not „laughter", but that _chirring_ sound again).

After his verbal exchange with Valery has reached its end, both began to walk towards the huge branch that was already cleansed of its small outcroppings roughly a minute ago by the two owls with the names of Hakan and Marek.

The female owl stepped aside and watched the ex-marshal, who was now preparing to perch on it, testing out the slipperiness of the bark, his own grip and its strength, and, when he judged himself and the branch to be fitting enough for the matter, Markson stepped up on the „once-part-of-a-tree", let out a deep sigh, then nodded towards Valery, who acknowledged the fact that the ex-marshal was ready to go with a similar action.

After that, she spoke in a loud voice, sounding exactly like a commander of an escort-team:

\- Alright, shape up, everyone! Spearhead formation, I want a navigator on my starboard wing! - to this request, a small body-shaped owl popped her left wing up in front of Valery's; she nodded to the owl, who went ahead.

\- Donna, ma'am, Celestial Navigational Chaw - said the little owl, then folded her wing, allowing Barnes' female associate to proceed.

\- Thank you - she replied in a friendly manner and low, almost soothing voice, then returned to her shouting routine; after all, she was back on her „briefing" now - We are flying to Northern-Ambala, densely populated section to the North-East of the Emerald-Lake - you all know the place. We will depart with the bearing of South, changing our course three-points towards West as we reach over the Sea of Hoolemere; our expected time of arrival is approximately twenty-to-thirty minutes! - her above given information was easy to understand, even Barnes catching a few sensible parts here and there - Any questions?

It was quite expectable that, although she was not given any, Valery was not waiting for a single question from her team.

In two minutes flat, she, Markson, and the whole „escort-detail" (consisting of a grand total of twelve owls) were all in the air, beginning their mostly wordless and quiet journey towards the Forest Kingdom of Ambala.

_Over the Sea of Hoolemere, Southern-Kingdoms_

_Close to 0:55 a.m._

_Christopher Barnes Markson, ex-TSA_

„Oh, God, I am going to fall into this sea, drown, then die!", thought Chris as he had strengthened his grip for about the hundredth time on the branch, fearing the risk and possibility of slipping or losing his balance, then plummeting into the visually endless collection of water that was spreading out below. Another moment, and the ex-marshal believed that, as some ridiculous and incorrect reaction from his digestive system, he was going to throw up; on the bright side, at least, he would not have directly hit anyone with the... _regurgitated_ package itself, especially if he would, _deliberately_, have faced downwards - on the bad side though, the sight itself was the thing that would have created the awkwardness of the scene, due to the reason that it was, simply, unacceptable and, expectably, disgusting.

Since their departure - which was _hardly_ even eight minutes ago - Barnes has requested a descent in altitude countless times - not gaining his wish, just quiet and confused looks from his branch's carriers, Hakan, and Marek.

\- Could we, _please_, fly a bit lower? - he inquired for yet another time, but received no usable response from anyone who was a part of this „escort-team"; indeed, who where they even escorting? Markson himself; he was just a partial-prisoner, nothing more or less! That could not possibly mean that he was of such high-value that a whole protection detail was assigned to his transport? Thoroughly re-thought now by the ex-marshal, this sounded suspiciously like prison-transport; then again, he had decided to ignore this thought, and proceeded along with his deep and exhausting concentration on _not_ throwing up.

Then, out of the clear blue, Valery has slowed down her flight and velocity, dropped down a meter mid-air (to equalise the altitude for a comfortable conversation; Barnes might have been kept on the same level of height for now, and still, when he had first brought up the topic of his carriers, those two owls _have_ actually descended an approximate meter, presumably not fully comprehending to the notion of the idea of what the ex-marshal was attempting to impart with this), re-appeared on the diagonal-right side of Chris, and began to converse.

\- There is a bit of background-information which would be better for you to know, Markson - well, who could have entirely known? Maybe she saw how miserable and physically sick he seemed to be on that branch, meters up in the sky, and just, ordinarily, wanted to ease the ex-marshal's stress; for the current moment, this aim was not functioning that well, as Barnes still could not feel himself in safety, let alone healthy.

\- What... type of... background-information... - here, he appeared to have quite a few problems to pronounce mainly-spoken and basic-level words, speeding up his takings of every single individual breath, not being bothered about the fact that he, in actuality, was inhaling in a _deep_ fashion; after a few seconds have passed along in the midnight's air, Barnes has regained this temporarily lost capability of his - ...are you talking about, specifically? - he concluded his unfinished sentence that can be read above _these_ very lines.

\- The location we are flying you towards, the near-border of Northern-Ambala, had a, let us call it, _unusual event_, which occurred in a populated area - you have heard my instructions, you already knew this by yourself. If you have listened to me at that time, of course - she added with a vague smile - However, this is not the first phenomenon of this type that has took place in the Southern-Kingdoms - Barnes, who, by so far, was _bravely_ giving the interraction of turning his head towards Valery an attempt, so he could establish a fix eye-contact with her, with which he was hoping to unverbally communicate through the words „go ahead and carry on", tried to repeat this process for the third time, and failed once again; his vertigo did not desired to grant him this possibility.

Nevertheless, in contrast with the ex-marshal, Valery was not facing the same complication; besides and after all, she was flying forwards while constantly gazing backwards. Deducting from this, she, presumptively, was not one of „_those who would unfortunately meet their early death by crashing into a tree when not looking_" types, to put it in a short and summed-up style. She was technically _soaring_ through the calm, night-air with an admirable charm of nonchalance, doing every instinctive flap as she had been born with this skill - which, to be fair, was probably entirely true - _probably_.

Since he was unable to impart this to the female owl otherwise, Chris shut his eyelids tightly, and swiftly nodded his head, telling Valery to continue on with her previously initiated speaking.

And so she did, going ahead as signaled by the ex-marshal:

\- We only refer to it as the Graymarsh-Incident - she began factually, and proceeded on with solid seriousness, albeit, a minimal and nicely-hidden amount of sorrow, maybe even grief, could be obscurely detected in her voice's tone - Before the occurrence, it was a scarcely populated area, but one of the most nicest and calmest locations in Southern-Ambala; now, it is just a flooded marshland with once inhabited hollows - the owl has kept a short silence, as if she was paying her respects, then continued - From the twelve families that lived there before the occurrence, only one was able to answer our inquiries, taking that ten were dead, and one went missing _immediately_ after the event.

\- Now, they stated that, from the safe distance they were keeping, - carried on Valery as she had ventured deeper into the topic - they saw something appear above the valley that they could only were able to describe as a, and I quote, „massive diaphanous sphere",, floating well-above the ground, _and_ the crowns of the trees; for a few seconds, as they have said, nothing happened - another pause, although Markson could feel that this was only for the creation of a typical and commonly recognisable dramatic effect - They have said that the „entity", as they titled it, just simply „kept soaring over the valley, distorting the visual world when stared through as if water would have been in the way"; then, after an approximate length of twenty seconds, a bright and almost _blinding_ flash followed, and, _literally_ from the clear blue, an _enormous_ amount of water, the same that covers Graymarsh at this very day, somehow appeared and filled up the whole of the valley.

\- Then what? - reacted Markson to _all of the above_ in a rather senseless, and, minorly impolite way, only realising his mistake in the consequent moments of their pronunciation; however, at that point, they were unredactable, and managed to cause its own form of damage, which was, undoubtedly, emotional.

\- _Then what_! - shouted Valery, albeit not loud enough to be heard from miles, but in a volume that was definitely noticed by the flying team itself, and, of course, by Barnes as well - Innocent owls died that day, only because some type of... well, as we have categorised it for the meantime, _natural anomaly_, that, so far, no one was able to explain! Do you understand the impact of that, Markson? - the ex-marshal did, and yet, only one thought occurred to him that he has used as (deemed by him) a reasonable excuse.

\- Why, of course I do...! - attempted Chris to save himself from this verbal trap before it closed in on him, however, he, since his efforts were already in the category of „vain" when he spoke the words „then what", we could playfully conclude that he has failed to rescue himself from the situation that was swiftly going (ironically) South.

\- ...Are you now? - questioned back Valery, eerily resembling Felias with this form of word usage and sentence structuring - Considering your previously pronounced words, you are not really giving a single bit of racdrops about the whole matter! - and there was Barnes, trapped between his own, pastly mentioned words, for yet another occasion from the many.

Self-saving was irrelevant and useless now, but that does not meant that one was not allowed to try:

\- Look, I am able to sympathize with what you have just told me, but, I believe, that there is one sole fact that I can bring up in the defense of my approach towards this topic - the female owl squinted with her right eye, which gave the impression as if she would have raised an eyebrow; interestingly, this facial gesture was no different when presented with this type of backwards-application - I am not from _here_; this is not my world, I do not feel that I would have to give anything towards it - this sentence induced an emotional reaction in Valery that was consisting of the following; first-off, she has slightly dropped her beak open, in an _almost_ unnoticeable way, as if she was preparing to reply something, but then, suddenly, changed her mind; after the previous, she narrowed her eyes at Barnes, unequivocally not impressed by what she has just acquired in a sound-based fashion.

\- I had _deeply_ hoped that someone with your caliber of intelligence would have a better understanding towards such a pressing topic - she shook her head slowly as she spoke to the ex-marshal, giving the (otherwise true) guess to Markson that he disappointed, and not in a light and excusable (at least, not for now) way at that, no; he has offended in a serious manner, technically belittling the memory of those who have died in the Graymarsh-Incident. _Not respecting the dead_ \- I might be forced by the former to admit that I was wrong; it could be that you are just simply an emotionless person, maybe because you have been „ripped out" from the place where you have came from - she kept a pause, but not the drama; Valery was figuring out an outcome that, if delivered properly, would create deep wounds, which would be oozing with metaphorical blood - But, have you considered the possibility that, perhaps, your intelligence is unable to live up to your empathy? - with this, she has not waited for a reply, or reaction from the ex-marshal; instead, she has steered-off mid-flight, and repositioned herself with that graceful fashion of flying to the spearhead-formation's right-side point.

Leaving Markson there, all along with himself, speechless; even then, despite the previous statement, in reality, of course, he was not alone; Hakan and Marek were _still_ carrying the branch that has, for all this time, kept Chris in the air. These two appeared to be rather antisocial anyway, taken that they have not spoken a single word since Barnes had first seen them; there was not much of a conversation between the owls and the ex-marshal, so, per contra, he excluded them from the category which would have counted as company to him.

After all, even if he gave it a detailed and a deep down-extending thought, Chris was unable to reason with his emotional and rational side; compassion and sympathy has never hurt anyone (also a lie, but, for the current topic, let us keep this as an irrelevant point), and yet, Markson was commenting on the story and telling of a quite serious and unexplainable incident as if it was the complicated description of the shattering of a cheap graphite-pencil; from all perspectives, no less respect could have been _not_ given by him towards this, clearly, sensitive subject.

This verbal and ethical offense will require reparations, Chris had no doubt about this fact; the only _real_ problem he was stuck was under the „how to live this up to Valery?" classification, still in the middle of the process of „searching for potential solutions".

_The night whizzed by as the yesterday had already turned into tomorrow..._

_Northern-Ambala, Southern-Kingdoms_

_Close to 1:25 a.m._

_Christopher Barnes Markson, ex-TSA_

Markson was able to tell from at least a kilometre away (which he was not _remotely_ able to precisely limit down to a realistic and rational value, due to the reason that he was, presently, too distracted by the magnificence of this forest) that the lightning-striked and eccentrically angled birch-tree was, in this very exact moment, a location that gave residence to a scene of potential murder; seemingly, the enormous difference between the species did not changed the atmosphere of death that was lingering around the place of committed-crime itself. Even from this distance, Barnes was able to identify their point of arrival, surrounded by the unsettling silence of death, which was crawling around the forest floor and its trees in a hundred meters radius - minimum. Morbidly, we could title this as the „trademark" of _The End_, the terminus of life itself; one would not need to be told or to know this.

_It_ could be _felt_; it made the body feel _physically_ that something was not quite as it should have been, and the mind... It was able to recite the events that have occurred in its own style, giving one the opportunity to try to _imagine_ what _it_ \- the murder - has visually appeared like, getting nightmares stuck in one's brain for a few nights that were to come.

The „landing of Chris" was another rather peculiar happening to encounter, which the _small_ amount of owls (more or less the near-range of twenty), who were already perching around _or_ on the birch-tree, observed with true and great interest; and, to be brutally honest here and now, who could have blamed them for staring at such an occurrence?

It is not an everyday sight of one owl, _perching_ \- instead of flying, as it would usually happen as - on a thick branch - which, on a side-note, is held by another pair of owls, who, for some undecipherable reason, simultaneously with the landing, have also kept focusing on avoiding direct eye contacts from their fellow members-of-species, who were perching on a tree, which, on another sidenote, was the actual spot for the landing - being brought down slowly and steadily to a point where, with a conspicuously noticeable amateurism and maladroitness, the „carried-owl" would jump onto a branch that was protruding from the birch, not being to far away from the _almost_ occurring incident of slipping, falling, then, _potentially_, breaking a few bones when the impact with the ground would have occurred, resulting in nearly-instant death (as one's last breath would be exhaled before the decease); shortly summed up, Markson almost lost his balance when his left foot has _barely_ managed to grab onto the branch which he has designated to himself as a target-of-focus. Now, this attracted unwanted attention to Barnes, who was unable to decide on an action to take as roughly nineteen pairs of eyes have appeared to be uninterruptedly stuck on him, drawn to the ex-marshal by his previous fumbling (and, for that thirty seconds - which was the amount of time required for every perching owl to process the occurrence of what they have just seen - no one has minded Valery's recon-team as they have landed on the birch's outer-branch „system"); for an uncomfortable length of time, all that everyone did was just to just, without intermissions, gazed at Markson, trying or attempting to figure out of what he was just doing.

What is even more than this, however; Chris honestly thought that the given scene and situation could not, by any means, advance into anything worse - that was the main reason of why he was waiting patiently for everyone to finish their disturbing _and_ annoying staring-session, then switch back to their original duties and tasks they were in the middle of before Barnes has came into the picture.

When the glances gradually began to lessen in their numbers and the volume of different and varying types of conversations has rose, the ex-marshal gave out a relieved sigh, trusting that, for today, this was the largest complication he was necessarily fated to face.

As soon as the latter had went through his brain, an owl exited the inside of the tree (the hollow) through an entrance which Markson has been only able to spot now; for a second, nothing came to him, but, when the eyes of the two have met, it only took a fragment of a moment for Barnes to evaluate the circumstances: momentarily, he was staring right into the amber-coloured eyes of Irvis.

Give or take a pair of seconds, the previously already-have-been-met owl gave a facial gesture of disbelief towards Markson, then, with his emotions mixing to second-to-secondly shifting and changing amounts of determination, chagrin, and - giving Chris a stinging sensation around his stomach-area - anger; consequently after the above occurred, Irvis unfolded his lightly coloured, creamy-brown wings, gave a few flaps to the air, and, priorly of the proper and full processing of this in Barnes' brain, the bird has lighted down in front of him, and was currently altering between the actions of „staring directly in the eye", and „looking over from talon-to-headtop".

Even though it was incontestable that it was the owl who have, in this current moment, had a _tremendously_ greater level of prestige than the ex-marshal, and yet, this situation itself could have been, to a varying degree, labeled as „awkward" and „rather uncomfortable" by some (if not most), taking that, as it was, without much of a required effort, deductable from the given plight, Irvis was, _at least_, two centimeters shorter than Markson when measured in by height, which would have (in an everyday case, to which _this_ was not even _remotely_ near to) automatically cancelled out the owl's high status and authority. However, this hindrance and height-disadvantage was equalised out by a specific and (in part) unique feature that could have been immediately spotted and found on the owl's head - exactly and precisely, his ear-tufts, a collection of feathers regularly used for non-verbal and signal-communication, a feature that was commonly mistaken by people for _physical ears_, especially by those who were outsiders to the term „ornithology".

Now, these ear-tufts on Irvis' head created the, may I state, „optical-illusion", which has made him visually appear as if he was, by some minimal measure, taller in height; then again, the eye-to-eye distance has somewhat gave it away - of course, to avoid _anyone_ to spot this, the bird has kept a respectable distance from the ex-marshal. If a any single owl would have glanced over, without further thinking and study, he, or she, could not, by any chance, have seen the visible difference of tallness between the two owls; the ones that were, even in this very moment, confronting each other in an „ocular-style" - however unusual or unimaginable that has sounded.

Even though Chris was entirely trusting in his preliminary-prediction - which has basically consisted of Irvis, before anything else would occur at this Tree - would begin to ask all those demanding- and cross-questions, hoping to, at a lucky point in time, confuse the one he was (and this word is _purely_ used to represent the ex-marshal's emotions towards this procedure) _interrogating_.

Despite the great and high chance and level-of-expectancy of the above, none of it has took its place or effect; in lieu, Valery „saved the day" by situating herself on Barnes' right side, which has made Irvis to take the action of refocusing his gaze, now proceeding to take up an eye-contact with the female owl (as it could have been expected, this took no more time from _all that was on in the world_ than one second, possibly even less); hereupon, Valery made a movement that has, by following movemental-logic, came through to Markson as salutation.

Firstly, she has unfolded her right wing, and secondly, she has raised it to roughly about eye-height, but the tip of her „flight-organ" was pointing _outwards_, away from her face - one would presumably had described this as „a traditional salutation, however, with the tip of the palm, which, in this specific case, was a singular pinion, pointing in the opposite direction as the previously spoken-about fingers would normally have".

As a response to this gesture, Irvis has nodded, and repeated the exact same set of movements as the female owl just have, the two birds switching to the position of „at ease" in the exact same moment and point of time.

\- Corporal Irvis - began Valery to the creamy-brown owl, maintaining eye contact for the whole while of the conversation - I have brought the team you have asked me to bring, _and_ the... items that our, uh... _suspect_ has requested - at the third-to-last word of this sentence, Markson's heart skipped a beat; he, for a short second, has thought that he has, out of the blue, became the main subject of the topic. Soon, he realised that he was not the one who was labelled as „the suspect".

\- Lance-Corporal Valery - replied Irvis in a style that has kept the formalities in line and also sounded polite; albeit this non-susceptible and peaceful start, the male owl appeared to be rather swift when it came to switching and changing tones in a talk - Would you want to explain of what in the name of Glaux _he_ is doing here? - he indicated towards Barnes with his head, now not even taking as a simplistic thing as a glance at him; no problem, as the ex-marshal has thought this to be better this way.

„Interesting", reflected Markson as he was waiting for the female-side's reply towards the Corporal, „How peculiar it is that they use not only the same concept, but the exact names as well for ranking! What are the chances of an identical language and words being used by two different species, even if they, _probably_, do not exist in the same location? Heck, maybe not even the same world!", he concluded, and continued on with what was mandatory in the present situation: to listen and to interpret.

\- Sir, I have reason to believe that he - his name is Markson, by the way - will be able to assist us in this investigation - her tone was truthful and supportive, and she has, also, stole a glance at Chris while delivering the previous; the same type of look came from Irvis as well, albeit this one included a lot more doubt than trust.

\- Lance-Corporal... - began the creamy-brown owl, but was cut short by the female, who, by this point of all the occurred events, turned out to be a rather swift and excellent talker, carefully analysing a topic in herself before speaking; since he was interrupted, Irvis was not waiting for his „colleague" to reach the end of her verbalised thought.

\- _Corporal_ \- this was heavily emphasised, most likely for two specific reasons: retaliation (although, this word might appear as a bit too... _powerful_, to a few), and to signal that she was, on all levels, speaking in a serious manner and she was meaning what she was pronouncing, and _earnestly_, while we are at it; well, that was what Chris took it to be, at least - I _do_ know what he did back at the Tree was, to an extreme extent, out of a place, _and_ it did crossed the line... - here, it was the male owl's turn and time to interfere mid-sentence.

\- He had assaulted a medical and healer, and resisted with force subsequently to that; we have officially marked him as _potentially dangerous_! - he spoke the truth (quite ironic, considering Barnes' interpretation on Valery's previous sentences), but Markson would not have prefered to audibly acquire this piece of information; not because he took it to be a lie, no, that was not his conflict with the former exclamatory sentence.

It was due to the fact that the ex-marshal, _unconditionally_, agreed himself that what he did was obviously against a vast number of ethical laws and basics, and he did not wished to hear the re-telling of his past deeds for another time. „Committing them for once was enough", thought Chris, and was just barely able to prevent his own self from sighing, „Then again, an apology is not a solution for these kinds of _wounds_ anymore, is it?", he questioned himself rhetorically, then dismissed the topic that was commenced by him in the first place.

\- Yet, I cannot help but stress the matter that he was in an acute state of confusion and distress when he committed these actions, thus, we, by our rules and regulations, cannot charge him with any form of crime! - Markson gave Valery a thankful and appreciative glance, however, the female owl did not responded with any similar type of a gesture, therefore, the ex-marshal has rotated his head away, back to its original angle, and re-focused his look on Irvis; only to realise and notice that the ulterior was gazing at him, deep in thoughts (as Barnes has assumed him to be).

A few moments of uncomfortable lengths have came and went, until, presumptively to break the petrifying and _painful_ silence, Valery began her calmingly, long line of rational reasoning again.

\- Sir, you have questioned him as well - as some unusual type of an answer, Irvis simply sighed, and turned his amber-eyes towards the female speaker, leaving Markson's gaze free, finally - You know it as much as me of how... _efficient_ his assumed knowledge might prove to be; I am asking for one chance, and that is all. Weighed by me, it is not something enormous to request, is it? - for another set of seconds, which, eventually, came to grow into a minute, nothing has happened; everything else around the three owls has seemed to have went silenced, although, if one of them would have listened, he or she would have realised that a good number of topics were currently being discussed around them, and that no other bird on this birch has paid them too much attention, if any, at all.

In the end, it was another heavy exhale from Irvis that has resolved the situation; actually, it was what he _spoke_ afterwards mattered for the most - breathing out with a moan would surely not have changed anything, did it?

\- Do you think he will be able to find his own way inside? - asked the creamy-brown owl figuratively, not fooling either Chris, or Valery with his clear-as-the-sky style of sarcasm.

\- What do _you_ think? - replied the female owl, laughing in a light way before continuing - He is not even able to fly; I hope that this is enough of an explanation to you, sir.

Prior to realising that what he was attempting has failed, Irvis shook his head with a rapid movement, then turned around wholly, to call out someone's name.

\- Latimer! - to this, a Barn owl, who was perching at the rear-end of one of the out-reaching branches, caught his head up, and located the source of the shout; when he was done with this, the bird nodded, communicating through to the Corporal to carry on with his request - I will need you to accompany this owl here to the our current „suspect", if you may! - the addressed has replied with a loud „understood", the lighted down a bit closer to the centre of the birch, keeping a respectable distance from the company of the „officers" and an ex-marshal.

Markson looked at Valery questioningly, then swiftly changed to Irvis, but, since no reaction or gesture was given by the latter (other than blankly staring at the ex-marshal, waiting for him to make any type of move), he shifted back to the former - the female owl - again; she, in contrast with the Corporal, seeing and understanding the issue that Chris was in the need of some form of assistance, gave a few verbal instructions to the minorly-disoriented Barnes, as to help him out.

\- Just follow Latimer until you are inside the hollow; once there, you will see a _Strix occidentalis_, a Spotted owl, in the case if that makes it easier, inside - then, with a light doubtfulness shadowing her beaked face, she stated a question, from which she had hoped reassurance - Do you know what a Spotted owl is like; by appearance and plumage, I mean? - clearly, Barnes had not a clue, which he had declared as a response by slowly shaking his head, indubitably displaying a negative answer.

Despite the fact that this matter in the main topic was now finished and cleared, and that Valery was prepared and ready to carry on with her sentence - Chris noted down one of his thoughts; maybe it was logical, perhaps it was the opposite - it, truly, depended on the individual who received the question, his, or her, personality, and the way in which they have processed the information they were given.

\- You know, I think that when I will see this... „Spotty" owl... - at this, Valery held off a light smile, however, Irvis did not applied discrecy, and slightly tilted his head to the right, obviously focusing on displaying doubt - ...I will be able to recognise, uh... - the ex-marshal had paused for a moment, only now realising that, so far, the gender of this „suspect"m if he used the same expression with which the Corporal and the Lance-Corporal have referred to the owl a few minutes ago; of course, in these types of situations, there was only one way to stick to a neutral response - ...he or she, that... depends on the gender - at the concluding point of his sentence, Barnes glanced at Valery again, who was, currently, doing the very same action, staring deep and right into the ex-marshal's ocean-blue eyes.

\- I have mixed feeling about that, but no matter! The point is that you are sanguine about this - she finished her short line of thought, then unfolded her left wing, with which she has politely signaled towards Latimer - Go ahead; we will be waiting.

„Again?", asked Chris rhetorically, as the previous sentence has awakened a memory on him about „being _collected_ or _picked up_", like he was some type of child, „in half-an-hour"; of course, the reason why of why the female owl's task has took a longer time of completion could have been due to Barnes, as, at the end of day, he was the one who altered and changed his location.

Valery and Irvis watched together as the owl who has claimed himself to be an ex-marshal has walked off, headed towards the _Tyto alba_ by the name of Latimer; the two „officers" locked their eyes together, and began to converse in a discreet and quiet manner, as they had not wished anyone to overhear or to eavesdrop on them.

\- Do you believe that this will work? - began the male, his tone now abandoned by all the doubt and _extremely_ minor dislike that he has showed towards the bird of an unknown _Strix_ species.

\- Let us keep him in the situation where he considers himself to be a potential prisoner; he will keep more effort on proving helpful then - replied Valery, stealing a glance at Barnes (who was facing away from them) for a short span of time; she then, as to increase confidence in him, touched Irvis' left wing with her own pinion of her right wing - Just watch! With this, he will attempt to redeem himself of his „crimes", which are, of course, not that heavy now, especially with that line of reasoning I have just gave - she turned her head away, and stared of into the distance, scanning the horizon, and the tree-tops of Ambala - Are _you_ sure that Markson and this... _Bethany_, is it? - to reply, the male owl has nodded - Right; so, are you entirely positive that Markson and Bethany mentioned the _exact_ same word that has caught your attention?

\- Well, I sure as well hope so! - exclaimed Irvis, pure hope present in his voice - With what he might potentially know, we might earn an advantage against these _anomalies_ occuring around the Kingdoms - then, although it was _really_ not required or needed, he added - ...And I am not _saying_ that I have had to pull a few strings for this... But the council _will_ ask for an explanation; without information and evidence, I might be unable to give them that.

\- You are smart bird, Irvis - smiled Valery, then stretched out a wing, followed by another, to which after her talons came - Please return my prisoner in one piece! - she joked sarcastically, then lighted off, flew a whole circle around the birch-tree, then shouted down to the male owl from her almost sky-high position mid-air - I will see back at Ga'Hoole; still a _massive_ amount of „paperwork" I need to solve before I can get to sleep _without_ problems when First Light comes! - and with this, she has disappeared into the purple-stained orient; the night was still young, and it was only beginning to be filled with its unique and specific creatures - the owls.

Barnes still had a _lot_ to get himself through, may that be forced, or done from his own doing; preferably towards everyone, his _own_ willing would have been a better choice to work with.

Irvis now took his eyes of the flying Valery, and re-focused his gaze on Markson, who was, in this moment, heading towards the central-structure of the tree - the bole - to meet up with Latimer, who - certainly, after a short introduction would occur between the two - will guide his through that _short_ way to the hollow.

He watched as the ex-marshal had walked towards the Barn owl, only a being a few steps away the range where verbal communication would, presumably, begin.


	11. The Girl From Another Place

**Another chapter for the readers (honestly, for who else, really?).  
Now, the ending of this chapter might appear a bit... _unfinished_, but, believe me, it is not supposed to be; I am just keeping specific things "covered up" for now. I mean, after all, this is in the category of a "mystery", is not it?**

**(16/10/2015); Update - Hello everyone, once again; now, after I have re-read the chapter, I have realised that (in a rather amateurish way), I have left one or two plot-holes to lie around. With this update (which adds in more explanation and detail near the end) I have fixed what was meant to be fixed.  
And... this is it really. Enjoy everyone!**

_**I do not own the Guardians of Ga'Hoole series.  
****I take all characters that do not belong to Kathryn Lasky as my own characters and creations.**__**  
**__**The Federal Air Marshal Service, the Food and Drugs Administration, and the Transportation Security Administration are not my creations.**_

The Girl From Another Place

_Northern-Ambala, Southern-Kingdoms_

_Close to 1:30 a.m._

_Christopher Barnes Markson, ex-TSA_

Latimer has immediately began to speak as Chris has approached him, nodding to the ex-marshal roughly mid-sentence as he had introduced himself; proceeding by preliminary analysis, Barnes had thought this owl to be rather... non-hostile and trusting, to live with the expressions that Markson was mostly unable to use in the past hours - if not days.

\- Well, you must be Silverbeak - of course, only if you are not bothered by that name? - so far, this Barn owl was the first to ask permission for the usage of this _somewhat_ bothering nickname, passing on a pleasant surprise to Barnes as he was about to answer; but, he was cut short and silent, as the bird has not yet spoke everything that he has planned on saying - Nonetheless; the name is Latimer, Lieutenant of the Ga'Hoole Investigatory Division, but... do not let this rank to give you this _typical_ sense of dividedness; I only look at it as a... „courteous-title", not as an excuse to order you around or for you to stay quiet when I speak - at this point, Markson was _originally_ planning to reply with something that could be interpreted from multiple perspectives, or with something sarcastic; deducting _only_ from the previously declared, the Barn owl, suddenly, did not appeared to be _overly_ pleasant to the ex-marshal.

„Rather ironic, I must say, taking that you have _technically_ just stopped me from talking!", thought Barnes, hoping that his eyes had not gave his _real_ feelings away, „In addition, I was _not_ planning on receiving that _typical sense of dividedness_, in case you were wondering", he finished in his head.

Then, Chris needed to realise that he was prematurely concluding from the set of _only_ two sentences, which was, obviously, not even near the sufficient amount that was required to do, at least, a regular and basic analysis; thus, he has decided upon the action of „staying emotionally- and intentionally-neutral".

\- I would prefer the name „Markson", to be honest - he began, also nodding towards the Barn owl in the meantime; from what he has seen so far, Barnes took this to be these owls' variation of a human handshake - So... I was told that you will show me to the scene of crime? - the ex-marshal was highly hoping that his (technically) foreign vocabulary was not-so out of context in this current scenario; from the answer that has followed his question, Chris has deducted that, luckily, all of the words have been properly understood by the owl, giving the ex-marshal a sense of relief, as he was still unsure of what expressions he was able to use _without_ creating any further complications or awkward situations.

\- Certainly - replied Latimer, then gestured with his wing towards the entrance of the hollow, which they have now began to casually proceed towards; strangely, the previously mentioned have visually appeared as if it was a black-hole, sucking in all the light around it, turning the vicinity into a dark and unwelcoming area on this birch-tree.

Alternatively, if one would have analysed these current features with the power of logic, it would have been clearly realised that the sheer reason of why this hole-in-the-bark was such a „sinister" sight was due to the fact that it was night-time, and, usually, at this point of a day, _everything_ grows murky and dim, meaning that the visual appearance of the hollow's entrance did not beared _any_ level of significance.

Markson, for most of the time, was attempting to not rely on the „illusion" of first impression; the idea that an intelligent and communication-capable being's intentions and characteristics could be, let us say, _deciphered_ on the first encounter, to Chris, was bizarre - albeit, with _his_ personal thoughts about the notion, he would have mainly described it as, and may we excuse him for the usage of primitive language, _bullshit_.

The whole concept of first impressions was, once again, _to the ex-marshal_, an ignorant form of perceivement; fully knowing and „understanding" someone from the point of becoming his or her acquaintance? Now, that was _easily_ and simply a pseudo-style idea.

The above was Barnes' primary reason to keep his true, inner-emotions, unconscious-reactions and -gestures concealed when conversing with the Barn owl - Latimer, to be referred to specifically by his given name; if Chris sticked along with common sense and used regular judgement, he would have categorised the bird as „one of the good guys".

Of course, this expression _does_ seems a lot more uninformative than its opposite, and would explain a great deal if it was analysed in a well-thought-out reconciliation - which was _exactly_ what Markson took as an action; he played around with the concept of his remark for a bit in his head, then concluded that, for another time, he has compared the situation to his past experiences:

Back at the TSA, Chris has met and saw a massive group of people, and each of these individuals _did_ had their wide varieties of experiences and personalities amongst themselves, which has usually impacted on how the ex-marshal behaved when they were in his vicinity - be that an operation or situation, or just another day in the office.

Then again, it was _mandatory_ for such an administrative-force to keep up their stability and order, thus, _all_ members of the agency were required to work along with and to handle all characteristics they might have ran into, during their line of work; one always had his or her pick of people (or, occasionally, _conflicts_), but, at the end of the day, the TSA was too _elite_ to be assaulted by the press, which, on a level of common agreement, would not have been _profitable_, for anyone.

But let us return back to our main topic; the detailed description Barnes would have gave about the, may we say, „title", that he has only called as „one of the good guys", would have consisted of the following sentence:

The type of person - be that officer or agent (or, to be a bit more contextual, _owl_) - who, beyond the norm, average, and the basics, fully understands and lives with the nature of his or her work - which is more than just a simple job. At this league, it would count as a responsibility; he or she is successfully and efficiently able to communicate and to co-operate with anyone when the requirement arises for such, and is _usually_ capable to handle _most_ situations (be that in the category of „line of work", or in the topic of „private matters") that life throws at him, or her.

Additionally, Markson noticed something else, in connection with Latimer, as well; he was smart - not by the full-intelligent „lexical-knowledge" some would have bragged about whenever they had the chance (Barnes now specifically refered to someone by the name of „Boyd Tate"; but, almost immediately, he realised of what he has just _actually_ thought, then he scolded himself, recalling the saying that „one should not speak ill of the dead"); no, this owl was able to perfectly and efficiently analyse a given situation, which, considering his presumed line of work (which strangely reminded Markson of an investigator, as if he was working for the FBI), had the potential to give many favours to this bird now, _and_ in the future.

\- I trust that Valery has informed you about the victims, our suspect, and, all-in-all, about the murder itself? - inquired the Barn owl, turning his look at Markson as he spoke; _his_ answer first began short, then, as it progressed, it grew in its length.

\- No, she did not - sounded the response's primary section from Chris; however, the second and last part of his thoughts were just about to verbalised - Although, she mentioned an unexplained phenomenon that has occurred in this... „gray-marsh", I think it was called - he glanced towards Latimer, who, _instantly_ knowing (another highlight from his exceptional traits) that the ex-marshal was expecting a sign of reassurance, nodded; after that, the current speaker continued on - I must say it, though, that she was... _notably_ emotional about it, and I am not meaning to complain or anything, but I think that I have experienced her worst side for a minute at that point - he concluded, then turned his head towards his front again, and began to deeply study the outer-structure of the birch's bark.

-Ah, yes, the Graymarsh-Incident. Honestly, I would not blame her; of course, she should not have came down on you like that, whatever the circumstances were. After all, it was not your doing, was it? - smiled the owl as he was, with great effort, attempting to lighten the mood and its tenseness with a joke (which even Barnes took to be a terrible idea, taking that the topic was, as seen beforehand on Valery, _is_ a rather sensitive one); awkwardly, no one has laughed, not even the bird himself - ...Anyway, I believe you now know that the incident at Graymarsh is a rather... _critical_ subject to converse about... - it was unclear if Latimer has just took a dramatic-pause, or simply lost the track of his thought; either way, Markson has now took over the role of the „speaker".

\- You could say that, yeah - he stated, then, seeing that the hollow was not that far away in the (rather short) distance, Chris decided that it was the perfect time to hasten up the speed of the events - Since Valery did not, could you give me a briefing about this murder-case? - Markson's feeling of worry (for some reason originating from his stomach-area) surfaced once again; he was, for another time, unsure that _all_ the words he had just pronounced were known _and_ used by these owls.

A few seconds later, his suspicions were proved to be „spot-on", as Latimer has appeared to be a bit... confused, to say the least, as he has cocked his head slightly to the right, displaying the obvious and clear signs of confusion on his face - he was not _exactly_ having a grasp on what Markson was trying to communicate through.

\- ..._Briefing_? What do you mean by this, if I can...? - he started, but, shorty after he initiated his process of talking, Barnes has interrupted and cut him short, and began to go through a more _clearer_ explanation.

May it be stated in his defense, the ex-marshal was, in this _exceptional_ situation, not losing his patience and temper; simply, he was just saving time, _and_ Latimer's breath.

\- Could you give me the details of what has happened in that hollow? - his (we could say) answer to the owl was sufficient with its content, although this could have been rather obvious, as Latimer has signaled that he has _understood_ with a swift set of nods and an „ah" expression.

\- Definitely - the Barn owl has cleared his throat, then a massive flood of brand new informations (to Markson specifically, of course) began to stream out from his beak - The victims are a family of Spotted owls, _Strix occidentalis_, consisting of a father, and two chicks, both being female and roughly about twenty nights old - so far, Chris managed to make sense of everything, with the help of focus and close interpretation of words; he was hoping that he will be able to do the same for the following sentences as well - Yesterday, around Last Light, we have received a report from one of our scouts that there has been a suspicious happening near this area, multiple owls who are currently dwelling in the vicinity reporting a set of shouts, then screams; one of them was even brave enough to take a peek into the hollow. They say that he went _yeep_ a few seconds after that - for most parts, Markson followed the spoken words, without problems, only feeling unconfident about this „yeep" thing; nevertheless, he carried on with the listening - Two hours later, our teams arrived at this spot, and established a perimeter, allowing no one in or out, except _us_, obviously - Latimer has kept a short pause as he recollected some of his thoughts - We have examined the hollow, identified the bodies by their descriptions, then found something that we were not expecting to be still in there... - Markson did not allow him to carry on, as he was _positive_ that he could have predicted the _exact_ words the owls would have said.

\- Do not tell me that you have found your suspect; the one Valery has mentioned to me? - the Barn owl gave off a pleasantly surprised smile, the nodded before he carried on.

\- You have an investigator's mind, Silv... _Markson_ \- he corrected himself in the last second before he fully pronounced the word - Indeed, we did; a fully-fledged and -grown female of the same species as the family. The ones who live nearby were even able to give us a name - another short pause was kept by the bird; the ex-marshal has noticed that he was not disturbed by this anymore. A few seconds do not matter anyway, especially when a given situation was not exactly the prime-proof of the phrase „danger" - Bethany, she is called, and our witnesses stated that she is, or now, _was_ the part of this family; the first-entry teams had found her distressed and confused in one corner of the hollow, appearing to be mumbling to herself...

\- You said that the first ones of you have arrived two hours _after_ the reports? - intercepted Barnes, not bothering to apologize this time, though - If she was the one who had committed this murder, which we can only assume, for now, why stay at the scene of crime? I mean, she is a bird, able to fly away and all that, am I not correct? - Latimer stopped and closed his eyes for a second, and, a moment later, opened them up again as he replied to the ex-marshal's collection of ideas.

\- Believe it or not, we were having similar thoughts about her; that is why this case required the help of an outsider - he gestured at Chris - We believe that your... _style_ of thinking in a different manner might assist us in some shape or form - in the moment of Markson's brain registering this information, he immediately decided that this was nonsense; what possible help could he _even_ bring into this investigation (if we could even call it that)?

There was something else in the background; Barnes had no theory or idea of what it might have been, but, with time, he will come back to it, and _will_ manage to figure it out, one way or another.

\- Anything else I might need to know about? - he started, but quickly rephrased his question, as something else had darted across his mind - Wait, actually, I have got one for you - Latimer nodded, and thus, the ex-marshal has carried on - Why do you suspect that she might be our murderer? - the Barn owl opened his beak, but shutted it almost immediately after, as the current talker has not yet finished what with what he was wishing to say - How do we know that she was not framed; she might as well be in shock, especially if she was just a witness to someone massacring her family! - it only took the other side of the conversation (the bird) two seconds to successfully place an answer together; at the count of three, he shared his reply.

\- That is a _small_ piece of information I have failed to share, my apologies for that - he cleared his throat, for another time since the previous occasion, where he had done the exact same - When our first-entry teams have went in and found Bethany, her whole plumage was covered in blood, from talons to beak - Barnes attempted to imagine the said situation; basically, an owl, just with red and black feathers _all_ around its body. But, soon enough, the ex-marshal has halted his line of thoughts, as he came to the conclusion that there was no point in assuming - he was going to see the _real_ owl in a few moments anyway, then he will be able to visually acquire the above mentioned sight for himself.

\- You told me that she was mumbling - continued Markson with their so-called _briefing_ \- What was she saying, exactly? Did your teams managed to make sense of any phrases, or words? - Latimer gazed far-off into the distance for a few seconds, as if he was considering a _crucial_ decision that he might have been about to make; now, we have, for another time, arrived to a sentence that has been repeated a few times beforehand: „only if Chris would have known...".

\- There was _one_, specifically, that we have not been able to recognise or understand; now, do not take offence for this, please, but, uh... - Latimer has dragged on with that „_uh_" sound for quite a time, slowly decreasing his volume of speech as he went along for the following five seconds - I have been instructed to not share this piece of information with you; it is nothing personal, I am just... - Barnes has heard similar excuses too many times in his life (_before_ all of this... currently-unexplainable happenings have occurred), therefore, it was not a complicated accomplishment for him to predict the Barn owl's not-yet-pronounced words.

\- ...Doing your job, and you hope that I understand that; I know, I know, do not stress too much about it - he was hoping to keep clear of this topic, and has made a bypass around it, so that the matter will not be covered in the near future - Anything further, or will we enter this... tree, now? - indeed, the two were, for the last three minutes, standing and waiting outside the hollow; to be fair, though, it was Latimer who have decided to automatically halt his advance towards the above mentioned destination as they have walked closer and closer with each passing second. Chris only stopped because he thought that he was _required_ to cease his movement.

\- Certainly - responded the bird, his whole body and being physically unmoved by the question, _and_ his answer - I go ahead and lead - he nodded, then gestured towards their target destination with his left wing; for a moment, the ex-marshal has thought that the bird was suggesting _him_ to go forward and take the point, however, this has appeared to be purely just a signal that the bird has gave to _himself_, and Barnes has only took it to be addressed to him by accident.

After a minimal amount of awkward who-goes-first movements, Markson clearly showed that he will go second by backing away; Latimer muttered something short under his beak, then swiftly walked into the hollow - with the ex-marshal following, keeping a regular and comfortable distance behind the owl.

The inside of the hollow was, to say the least, was the _very_ opposite of clean and pleasant, giving both birds (who have just entered the enclosed-location) an instant feeling of uneasiness, and _slight_ fright; all around the wooden surface of the hollow's inside, small-to-medium splatters of not-yet-removed blood were found, an overwhelming portion of these vital-fluid spots already beginning to turn black as they had expired outside a non-deceased body that has once used to contain them; a wide variety of objects were thrown all around the place, some of these items and equipments appearing familiar to Markson, but most seeming quite foreign and unknown to him as he scanned around with his eyes.

There were three mounds of - one larger, and two smaller - somethings that were, for some yet unclear reason, were covered down with a white piece of fabric, however, the material has began to turn dark-red here and there; after processing this, Chris suddenly earned an understanding of what he was currently gazing at, and, after another short glance that has took no longer than a second, the ex-marshal has turned his eyes away from the bodies of the murdered and now deceased owl-carcases, and began to visually discover the other sections of this birch's hollow.

It was at this moment that he has spotted Bethany for the first ever time, shaking and darting around with her eyes constantly, the previous two being induced by the fear, and the emotional shock that she has been forced to live through a few hours ago.

The Spotted owl (as Barnes was told) was in an isolated and guarded corner - with two owls, possibly from the same unit as Latimer - were watching over her, as if they were expecting her to _suddenly_ act out in a dangerous manner, and murder another count of owls, or, maybe, some other birds.

„How in the world could she ever have done _this_?", thought Markson, changing his visual focus between the covered-down bodies, and the quivering and innocent-looking bird, who, as the ex-marshal had settled his look on her, locked her gaze into Barnes' eyes; it was as if something was passed between the two, however, only the female part understanding of what that was. She _now_ knew a definite fact that had a connection Chris, and he was entirely positive on this - the only thing he was unable to figure out was that he had _not a clue_ of what was just exchanged in this non-verbal style.

\- Leave us, please! - ordered Latimer, speaking towards the two birds who were standing there solid-guard over the Spotted owl - Us two are taking over for now - then, he nodded; something that he could be _easily_ identified about by this point.

\- Sir - replied the bird on the left, bearing a dark-brown plumage of feathers, ear-tufts, and bright, orange-tinged eyes; both have left their positions at the exact same second (as if it was compulsory), and walked out from the hollow, leaving only Latimer, Markson, and Bethany inside in the unnerving and disturbing silence of the dead.

Albeit any and all of them had the will and strength to break this „absence of audible sound", none of them have acted out as such; it was as if the deceased and the murdered had took over this place's atmosphere, covering everything in absolute grief and mourn (even if, at this very moment, none of the three birds were doing so).

„The dead do not talk", people used to say, and, up to this day, they still bring it up in different types of conversations; and yet, Barnes (although for a moment believing that he has just simply dived to deeply into his own, intuitive mind) thought that he was able to... almost _sense_ the presence of something that did not belonged here, to this world - an „otherworldly-ubiety", one might have said; inaudibly crying out for the need to be left alone, to be given peace that _everyone_ has deserved after the span of their life has reached a timely, or an unfortunate and premature end.

„Who's idea was to leave the bodies in here?", wondered Markson, simultaneously glancing around in the same time, speculating if it was only his imagination playing a trick on him, or, in fact, he has just saw some minorly-dense mist that, in its gaseous-like structure, resembled fog, and has just hovered out from the hollow, then dissolved into the night sky, leaving not a trace of itself behind - it was even more macabre to consider that this... whatever it was, has originated from the empty space that was located above the largest heap that was covered down with the now almost fully blood-soaked fabric.

However, Barnes had not paid to much heed towards to _it_, as he has now considered it to be only some type of _mirage_, something that only his mind's eye has spotted, and, in actuality and reality, was never even there in the first place - well, so the ex-marshal has thought.

It was Latimer who has gathered enough bravery and willpower to break this lifeless silence, first clearing his throat (which has removed an enormous pressure from the hears of both Markson and the Spotted owl), and, after that, opened his beak, and began to speak.

\- Bethany - the bird he called out now glanced away from Markson, and established an eye contact with the Lieutenant - We are here to ask you a few questions - by Chris' personal judgement, the owl's latter sentence could not _possibly_ have been more clichéd than _this_.

\- The previous ones have said the same - replied the Spotted owl, to which Latimer has reacted to with a inquisitive look; the bird (who was currently being regarded as a suspect) saw this, and began to give a further continuation on her previous sentence - Those owls you have just sent away. They have asked questions from me; and the ones before they came - an uncertain pause was kept by her - And... so did those before them, as well - although she might have been distressed and confused a few hours ago, _now_, as far as Chris could see, Bethany was in an acceptable shape to be questioned - this was an advantage.

It was only those nervous and frightened twitches and tremors that were constantly shaking her... How could this bird have been a ruthless murderer _only_ two set of sixty minutes ago? Even if she _was_ in the not-so-far past, presently, this female owl was an agitated and mentally disoriented being, staring nervously at _anything_ that had moved in an unexpected style, appearing as if she could have been frightened by her own shadow.

\- Why are we here if she has already been questioned? - whispered Markson to the Barn owl, who was as equally perplexed as the ex-marshal currently was. Before any of them could have added more, Bethany spoke, reaching the two others quite unexpectedly.

\- They kept calling in other owls, saying that they were unable to understand some of the words I was saying - she stated; Chris and Latimer have exchanged an uncertain glance. The former had gestured towards the latter with his head, to which the bird has nodded to in agreement.

It was a rather peculiar sight: successful non-verbal communication between two individuals who have met each other roughly fifteen minutes ago; frankly, it was somewhat fascinating, and has perfectly proved the fact that „great minds always think alike".

\- Not understanding the words you were saying? - while Latimer has proceeded on and kept asking for answers, Barnes has took a deliberately unhurried and carefully measured turn, glancing around the hollow as if he was its proud owner, drinking in all its majesty; the only issue at this comparison was that there were three dead bodies inside this birch-tree, and the wooden-inside of the hollow was painted with their blood; re-thinking this now, it was not the best simile one should have decided upon using in this specific scenario.

\- I just told them what they had wanted to know; apparently, they have never heard of the place I came from, although I would consider it to be _globally_ known - the second-to-last word has caught Chris' attention, but he halted this premature-excitement; the phrase was presumably used by these owls as well, no overcomplication in that was needed. They had maps and an, apparently, organised system of kingdoms; they _must_ have had the knowledge that the Earth was round.

„Then again, who said that I am _still_ on Earth?", he thought to himself in an ambiguous way, but dropped the idea (due to his worry about focus-loss), and carried on soon after.

Markson walked over to something that has resembled a hand-crafted bookshelf, however, it only had two slots for items to be stored on it, a few of these - mainly books and tomes resembling in appearance the ones that Chris has read, back at the Tree - hanging in a half-stable style, pointing out the absence of extra space that was, beyond any doubt, missing. The ex-marshal had a quick run-over on most of the titles, catching out such as _The Legend of Hoole_, _Tales On The War of The Ember_, and _The Dead in Our Dreams; The Unofficial Guide to Starsight_ \- all were unusual, and, to say at the least, _odd_ to Barnes; nevertheless, by this point of time, he ceased to give _most_ of these volumes (and, frankly, _everything_ that was occurring around him) a fair chance, thus, even if something has seemed to be _totally_ ridiculous to the ex-marshal, he would just keep his beak shut, and would concentrate on his given task that was standing ahead of him instead.

\- What did they wanted to know? - continued Latimer, not allowing a single trace of impatience to mix with his voice's tone; he simply kept asking back, gathering small, but nonetheless _useful_ pieces of information, which would, progressively, add up an answer that will be sufficient in details.

Barnes took the courage to do something that he would, in normal cases, never even have considered in the first place; he moved over with his talons the largest heap that was covered down by the discoloured fabric, balanced himself on his left foot, reached out with his right, and lifted off the carcass-covering material in a reluctant, but respectful fashion.

\- They wanted to know why I did it; I could not make sense of what they were saying - heard the ex-marshal the speaking Bethany from the background; even though he was investigating the hollow itself, carefully scanning around for any clues, he was still paying close attention to what the Spotted owl had to say for herself - Then... then they told me that I have murdered someone - my _family_ in fact! - her voice turned into a light sob, as if she was about to drop a few tears; however, the reason for this potential action was yet unknown by Markson and Latimer.

As soon as he lifted off the respective cover from the largest motionless-body, Chris has _instantly_ regretted that he has ever acted like this: he did not visually acquire _too_ much details, but the blankly-staring and glassy eyes would have frightened even the strongest-willed. That unmistakeable face of death, where the absence of motion cannot be confused with the state of unconsciousness...

Seeing the deep-reaching and bloody gash on the male Spotted owl's throat was enough to force Markson to drop the fabric back on the deceased body with a half-nauseated, and half-terrified frown on his feathered face; in that very moment, he could have _sworn on his life_ that blood was still _oozing_ out from the wound that once gave place to a _larynx_ that was now removed and torn out from its natural position...

„Shit", he sweared in thought, „I knew that owls had sharp claws, but this?", he refered to the previously encountered dead body, „This is simply... _brutal_".

\- And? Have you murdered someone? - Chris could hear Latimer proceeding with the same he did before in the background - Any owls that have lived in this hollow, or were a part of your family? - personally, Barnes deemed this question to have crossed _that_ specific ethical-line; his latter sentences effect was not so far away, as Bethany had began to cry tears, and, in the same time, was attempting to speak.

\- Is no one aware of what I am _constantly_ saying? - the Spotted owl asked as she was sobbing, attracting a quick glance from the ex-marshal as she did so - I do _not_ have a family! - she was clearly about to carry on, but Latimer did not allowed her to; instead, he, _metaphorically_, lifted up a verbal piece of evidence.

\- All the owls living in the vicinity say that you do - the Barn owl has changed from the stature of neutrality to the position where he, although not publicly, but was _still_ accusing Bethany with first-degree murder; rather early at this stage, especially if one would have considered the current emotional state of the owl. Nevertheless, this could have led to her breaking down under the solid pressure, and, if, in fact, _she_ was the murderer (which was highly unlikely, as Markson was thinking about it), the bird would have admitted it by herself, just to end this whole thing. Entirely expected by the ex-marshal, she _did not_ \- Alright, let us consider that I believe you; now... - Latimer planned to carry on, but Barnes has intercepted him mid-sentence, causing the owl to give him a frustrated look.

\- Do you mind if _I_ try, for this time? - asked Chris, now turning and gazing down at the vulnerable and quietly sobbing Spotted owl; a second after, he has looked back up at the Lieutenant, who's annoyance has swiftly disappeared as he has (for about the hundredth time for today) nodded to the ex-marshal, signaling with silence that he shall begin to ask _his_ questions.

Latimer has now took a few steps back, giving space to the now deliberate-looking Markson, who has now moved forward, making ready to talk; essentially, the two birds have exchanged their original „positions" in the hollow, the Barn owl now being the one to scan around and to search for any potentially-useful clues.

\- Bethany, I would like you to forget about the whole murder; just do not concern yourself with it for a few minutes, got it? - the addressed female has gave out an incomprehensible noise that has resembled a faint „yes", also, the gesture she did with her head was indicating the same, showing she has agreed to do what the ex-marshal has requested from her; while doing the previous, the bird has wiped her freshly-shed tears away with her wings (although in a rather uncoordinated fashion).

Considering that she was now attempting with all her strength that she could gather to get a hold of herself, the Spotted owl was still, from time to time, shaking uncontrollably, as if she had been connected up to some type of electrical device (however, this clearly objectionable image could only exist in Barnes' mind, for obvious reasons).

\- I will ask you a few... - hesitated Markson, as the reaction Bethany has responded with to a similar sentence had turned out to be almost catastrophic when it came to emotions - I am unable to put it otherwise: questions.

As predicted, the female owl was about to give another complaint with a potentially extreme emotional-spike (honestly, no one could have blamed her for this; she was being interrogated by different individuals for the past hours, it was not an unexpected surprise that, by this point, she was slowly-but-surely being consumed by stress; if someone would not forcefully stop this process, their was the possible danger of losing Bethany).

\- No, not the ones that you have already answered a countless times for the „previous ones" - the bird to whom Chris was speaking to had turned her eyes towards Latimer, who was holding some type of plastic object, its shape being a miniature cuboid, not appearing to be much larger than the Barn owl's talon; one could have called it an „only just" fit.

The object had awakened a familiarity in the ex-marshal, however, he ignored the impulse, swiftly shook his head (with such minimal movements and with such speed that it was barely visible), as if he had wanted to temporarily banish his latter thoughts with this.

\- Bethany? - the Spotted owl has caught her head up, which has suggested that she was unprepared for this sudden and (to _her_) abrupt addressing from Barnes; her body was starting to tremble again, therefore, Markson had decided upon taking the action which he, in usual circumstances, might not have done: he reached out with his right wing's tip, then gently placed it on the female owl's left shoulder.

Consequent to this, Bethany's agitated tremors have came to an end, leaving the female owl physically stable and calm (if we do not take the light sobbing into account, for now); on the ex-marshal's behalf, however, the previous reaction has left him with a perplexed and pleasantly-surprised facial gesture.

Markson was not bearing a single clue or theory of what had just occurred between him and the Spotted owl; even if asked, he probably could not have gave any logical explanation. Frankly, he was still unconfident that it was actually him, who have had _this_ unexpected effect on the female.

Left without any thought that could have served as a foundation for potential concepts of ideas or answers, Chris has proceeded along with his line of inquiries, as the bird has seemed to be fully focused for once again; she was staring right into Barnes' deep-blue eyes, erasing any traces of a doubt from the ex-marshal's mind that she still might be distracted.

Albeit this should be rather obvious by now, but she was not; _not anymore_.

\- Some of my questions might sound a bit strange to you, but, please, just bear with me; I _will_ need you to co-operate with me, okay? - a barely audible _uhum_ could be heard from Bethany; Chris has felt that it was now the appropriate time to carry on - What can you remember of the previous two hours? - asked Barnes, placing as much sympathy in his voice as he possibly could have in a such a situation.

\- I can try, but... everything that happened is just... so hazy, I am not sure if I... - the female owl has slowly decreased her speech's volume to a mutter; she was becoming uncertain again, and this could have resulted in her failing to share crucial pieces of information - this has required a quick intervention to be stopped, and this was to be provided by Chris.

\- Just tell me _anything_ you can recall; no matter if it does not makes much sense. Remember that even fragments can be useful - it was a common and (almost) clichéd saying used for reassurance (which has made the current situation rather _ironic_), but, if the ex-marshal was reading Bethany's facial gestures correctly, his interrogatory-technique has proved to be a successful attempt.

For the length of two minutes, silence began to suffocate the hollow, leaving Markson with a motionless keeping-of-position, and Latimer to continue digging through any incriminating items that might still have been deposited in this hollow; every time Bethany would open her beak, the ex-marshal and, occasionally, the Barn owl would hold their breaths back while waiting for an answer, however, these have usually greeted them with a sigh, or absolute silence.

After the previously mentioned sets of seconds have passed, the Spotted owl gave out a short, hope-lost moan.

\- Even if I would tell you everything I remember and been through, you would either not understand it, or just simply not believe me - she shook her head, apparently now forcing herself to focus on the hollow's wooden (and, also, blood-soaked) floor, feeling too shy to establish an eye contact with Chris.

„You would say the same after hearing my story!", the thought to himself, only as a laugh, but skipped one instance of „breath-in" after a rough theory has surfaced in his mind; „in fact, this sounds awfully similar to me when I have arrived here...", his eyes opened up wide, the ocean-blue glint now clearly visible to Bethany (then again, she was gazing at something else at this time).

„Come on, Markson!", he reprimanded his own self, still only in his head, „Stop fantasising and return yourself to reality!" How could this owl possibly be like _you_";

With this, he had placed a full-stop at the end of his „self-argument", _but_, before acting as such, he has swiftly devised a plan that, if delivered successfully, will tell Barnes if Bethany was, indeed, only an owl, nothing more or less than that.

Even though he was ready to state his question, Markson had his doubts, taking into consideration that what he was planning on might not even make any sense at all; _yes_, he could have asked, but, deep-down, he was not _actually_ expecting a beneficial outcome from this - then again, one single question could never hurt in this specific circumstance, could it?

_No; it could not possibly have_.

\- Alright, maybe if we begin with something easier first, just to get your mind to work before you answer my previous question - smiled Barnes, to which, greatly surprising the ex-marshal, Bethany has responded to with the same - Now, this might sound like an illogical and unusual question, but, please, bare with me, and just give me an answer - the Spotted owl nodded; Chris has took a deep breath, and let his beak loose - Where were you born, Bethany? - once again, a stillness of audible sound has descended upon the hollow, the only hearable _anything_ being Latimer, who was humming some type of quiet melody; seemingly, this has kept him occupied, therefore, Markson did not wanted to _hush_ him.

At least, one bird in this interior was keeping themselves in a somewhat positive mood...

The Spotted owl took a few seconds of her time, then gave a clear answer; this, after pronounced, has caused Barnes to believe that he has heard something wrong, catching out information that was incorrect, badly perceiving the female's upcoming-sentence.

As unbelievable this sentence has sounded, it was, in fact, free of lies or error; it was only Chris, who did not yet knew this.

\- I... I was born in _San Francisco, California_, but, honestly, I do not think that this piece of information would change anything... - she kept on talking until she has, in an uncertain style, cut off, raising her glance at the ex-marshal; howbeit, the latter has blanked-out after the mention of the well-known city, and state.

From a personal perspective, Markson was expecting for an answer that included a... _kingdom_ of these owls, a name from which he would have only understood a trifling little portion, leaving him clueless until Latimer would have cared enough to explain.

This... this was the last and finla thing the ex-marshal would have presumed to hear; _San Francisco, California_... improbable, unbelievable, and simply astonishing. What were the natural chances of him running into someone to whom a similar... _transformation_ (in lack of a more specific word) has occurred to as well?

Well, by the laws of _nature_, zero; then again, by the same „rules", Chris should not have been here in the first place.

The surprise and the positive shock must have been easily visible on his face, hence the content of Bethany's future sentence, which has, ultimately, snapped Barnes out from his „caught-unexpected" state.

\- See? I have told you; I have kept repeating this exact same story to _all_ the owl who have came beforehand, and no one could comprehend to what I have had to say! You two are an exception in this case, as you are not _constantly_... - here, he sent a too-brave stare towards Latimer, who, luckily, was not looking at her at the time, and has failed to notice this - ...accusing me of murder - she spoke, finally, catching the eyes of Markson around mid-sentence; his expression was still identical to what it originally was when the female has pronounced the words „San Francisco", only that now he was able to close his beak, and breath through his nostrils again.

After a short recollection of his senses, it was Barnes' turn to talk; and so he began, keeping a well-weighed, pensive, yet still somewhat disorganized structure to his sentence.

\- Bethany... - he started, choosing his words as if an invisible gun was being held to his head, forcing him to be extremely careful with what he is about to say - I... am the... _same_ as you are - confusion has set itself down on the Spotted owl's face, which she has also communicated through verbally.

\- The... _same_? - incomprehension was all over and around the female bird's tone of voice; Chris has suspected that, even if given a minute or two to put this „mental-puzzle" together, Bethany would have been left exactly as clueless as she currently was.

To help her out, Markson has gave a further explanation on this topic, which, in this case, has ceased the female's breathing in-and-out for approximately... four seconds.

\- What I mean is that... - he sighed heavily, taking a moment to consider of what he was just about to say; this will either bring him out from the situation as the only other individual to whom Bethany could _mentally_ relate to, or as a distracted bird who is talking total _gibberish_ to a possible suspect.

Needless to say, the former had the highest chance of occurring, taking away any doubts from the ex-marshal's head for another time.

\- Christopher Markson, ex-TSA, Bethany - he spoke, feeling the words that were (somehow) pronounced by his beak to be... _extremely_ out of context; nevertheless, it felt relieving to finally speak to someone who could _entirely_ understand him (even though at this point of time, he was only _assuming_ that this Spotted owl was once... human) - I... am from Boston, Massachusetts personally, but, uh... - his mind went blank for a moment, and so Chris let up with the continuation of this sentence, and, instead, patiently waited for any reaction from Bethany.

Instead of her, a rather peculiar sentence was spoken by Latimer, not revealing anything to the female, but sending a quite large surprise towards Barnes, who now looked at the Barn owl:

\- Well, Valery and Irvis were correct, after all - he was nodding continuously and slowly, clicking his beak while thinking of what to do next; it only took him seconds to make a decision - Alright, Markson; I will leave you two alone to... figure something out now - by the time he has finished his sentences, Barnes had _at least_ twenty-to-thirty questions floating around in his head, not being able to decide to which one he should commence his line of inquiries with; unfortunately, Latimer walked particularly fast out of the hollow (well, he almost _flew_), not allowing the ex-marshal to ask for even just a single answer.

Shifting his gaze back to Bethany, Chris has spotted a reaction that was much similar to his, and yet, still quite different; beak dropped open, pupils wide and shining, an expression of disbelief sitting on a pretty, brown-feathered face, and, from the inside of those innocent dark eyes, the same was being radiated out, only with a sense of warmth.

Markson has chased these thoughts out of his head in a swift manner as the Spotted owl has began to speak; while she was doing so, „unfocused" was the last thing the ex-marshal would wanted to be.

\- Are... are you being _totally serious_, or did one of those other owls told you to say this? - Chris shook his head from the left to the right, indicating that, basically, he was telling the truth; believing this, Bethany has carried on - All right - she kept a short pause to herself, probably to think on her next sentence - You have mentioned that you are... _were_ TSA; that would mean that you are a federal-government agent, is that correct? - she asked, her tone being unexpectedly serious.

\- Uh... I am not sure of how much importance this... - started Barnes slowly, but was aggressively-interrupted by the female, who has, _impatiently_, cut in at the middle of the previous sentence.

\- _Are you_ or are you not? - knowing that Latimer was now gone, and that someone similar to her was in this hollow has suddenly aroused the Spotted owls level of active- and consciousness, as if a spark had kindled up a brand new _fire_ within her; it was almost impossible to compare _this_ Bethany, and the one Markson was speaking to _only_ a few minutes ago.

The one who was crying in the corner of this hollow then, being the perfect physical representation of the word „stranded", and lost.

\- Yes, I _was_ a federal agent - he said with an edge in his voice; the Spotted owl drifted a bit too far into the territory which Chris would not tolerate well - But I think it is obvious enough that _here and now_... - apparently, about the latter part of his speech, Bethany did not cared about; she has cut into the ex-marshal's lines with such swiftness that Barnes did not even had time to realise that he, basically, was silenced.

\- Where and when have you _crossed over_? - she asked, but, seeing that Markson was not following her, she gave out more detail in another sentence - Tell me the exact location; which city, what street, anything suspicious in your vicinity? - the ex-marshal was clueless; what in the world was this owl talking about?

It was indubitably obvious now that Bethany was, indeed, the „same" as Chris; she knew such informations that only a human could have known, let alone ever heard of. There was only one little detail here that was mentally disorienting Barnes.

„What is this „crossing over" she was speaking about? What is she attempting to point towards? Am I not supposed to be the one to question her? As far as I am concerned right now, it is _me_, who is expected to answer!", and these were just only the minimal section of all the thoughts that were currently darting around Markson's skull.

\- Uh... _crossed over_? - he asked uncomprehendingly, currently feeling as if he was hit on the base of his skull with a blunt object (like a frying-pan, if we would prefer to stick around in the area of comedy-clichés), which would usually have caused light-to-medium disorientation.

\- I believe I have jumped into the middle of the subject quickly - she said, giving voice to her own opinion about the present moment with a _tch_ sound - Right, before you... woke up in this „world", did you experience any nausea, tiredness, or muscle pain? A loss of consciousness, maybe? - the frequency of the ex-marshal's heart beats has now quickened again, leaving him in inertia for a few seconds that have followed.

From the above described, at least two have been experienced by him while he was inside the plane; then, as some kind of bizarre addition, there was that _thing_ with his eyes, which, so far, he has only classed as a weird form of heterochromia; nonetheless, _now_ knowing that, in his current physical form, his pupils were of the colour blue, Barnes had began to connect some of these stranded dots together.

What has _really_ occurred on that aircraft on that night? A terrorist attack, then a sudden electrical storm, causing the death of _at least_ a hundred people - civilians? Too many questions were unanswered, and Markson kept ending up on this point for over and over again in the past hours - days even!

This had to stop, and it had to do it _now_; he was not sure of how much information the Spotted owl would be able to provide, but, even if it was just a minimal set of clues she might give away, Chris was feeling more and more eager to hear them.

\- I did, and... two of them, specifically; the muscle pains, and the tiredness - he halted to reconsider something for a moment - Also, there was this... recolouration of my...

\- ...Eyes? Yes, that is, also, a common side-effect of the _crossing_ \- she nodded quickly, and drifted off for a few seconds into deep thinking - Was there a _book_ nearby? Before you have fell unconscious? - she asked, suddenly snapping her eyes back on Markson, who, by this previous question was, for another time, rendered motionless and silent.

Only for a few moments, though, as he now gave a verbal-highlight to his suspicions.

\- Now, how did you know that? - he questioned, disguising the surprise as _professional_ seriousness on his feathered face, narrowing his eyes, and tilting his head slightly to the right.

Bethany did nothing, but smiled in a light and satisfied manner; seemingly, she has just got what she required.

\- Then, as you have indeed said, we are _quite_ the same, _Agent_ Markson - the vulnerable and innocent (in appearance only, of course) female owl was gone, totally taken over by a no-nonsense and rather diligent-like type of personality; no doubt over the fact that the bird was still the same, but, somehow, Barnes had the feeling that she is not the worst actor he has ever met.

Nevertheless, his suspicions were still sky-high, and, considering that, _officially_, Bethany _still_ continued to be a suspect, Chris felt that the main reason of _why_ he was left here by Latimer was due to an expectation - an expectation of interrogation.

Even then, this was only going to be a non-hostile questioning, nothing more; at least, the ex-marshal did hoped so.

\- Who are you, _really_? - inquiried Markson, keeping a strict gaze on the Spotted owl, trusting that this would forward his message to Bethany; _it was _him,_ asking the questions now_.

The female once-a-human has shook her head, all in the meanwhile, smiling; if Markson would not have known better, he would have concluded that she was not even aiming to answer, while, in fact, it was just her, still being in the higher position on the case of who-knew-more about the above discussed topic. Essentially, she was having a fun time of understanding that Barnes had almost no knowledge on what has happened to both of them.

Of why she was doing this, Chris had no idea; but whoever this „girl" was, the ex-marshal was certain that she was important - _immensely_, if we would be required to categorise it.

Let us just call it a _hunch_, but Markson's instincts („human ones", at that) were acting up now, and made him physically _feel_ (around the stomach-area) that something was... _unique_ in this individual „ex-human".

Something important was clearly there, and the only thing that was required of Barnes was to find it.

\- I do not think that you are authorized to know that; at least, not just yet - she spoke secretively, dragging an (imaginary) eye brow-raise onto Chris' face; _who the hell is this girl?_ \- However, there is one thing I can definitely talk about, and you have the right to know this. What is more, you _should_ know this! - she stared-off into the short-distance of the hollow, carefully examining the cuboid-shaped item that Latimer has placed back on the hollow's floor after leaving - It is mandatory for you to know of what we are up against - she snapped out of it, slowly shaking her head while doing so.

\- Who is _we_? - demanded Barnes with a slightly louder-than-comfortable volume, his now authoritative voice echoing through the inside of the birch-tree - You _need_ to tell me more than _this_! - he shrieked with a sharp _screech_ of an owl, surprising himself for the most in the whole process (of course, no one could have said that this was also unexpected to Bethany as well; no doubt about that); however, the sound his throat has just emitted was not what had bothered him the most. It was the _knowing_ that this has came to him instinctively, as if he had been doing it regularly for his whole life. The uncontrolled, aggressive vocal-trademark of a bird of prey; was it the _animal_ taking over his rational and logical mind inside him? _Was he losing it, was that it?_

No, that was impossible: there was no _animal_, only him, just... physically different - that was all to it. Overthinking took over his brain for another short timespan. This was _all_ that has happened.

Apparently, Bethany, after a short while of thinking, understood of what the ex-marshal was thinking to himself, as she has smiled again; but this time, it was out of pure empathy, not from sarcasm.

\- First time you hear yourself like that? - she asked; Barnes looked at her questioningly, to which the female has responded to with the following - Not like I should be saying anything; I was only here for a couple of hours, and I am already giving you some type of a lecture - she shook her head again, however, she had aimed this at herself, as if she was reproaching herself; shortly, she has continued on - Anyway, to get back to my point - the Spotted owl has cleared her throat - Ever heard of a privately-funded company named PSRI? - sounded the inquiry, ordering a few seconds of total silence across the entirety of the hollow.

Chris, although just minortly and sub-consciously, but still had his doubts about this whole situation; nevertheless, he has finally found someone who might prove to be the bearer of enlightening information.

It was only straightforward for him to play along his role now. Latimer wished for a proper „interrogation" that would, when concluded, not end up fruitlessly; for now, Markson was potentially about to hear facts that the Barn owl would not even have dreamed about.

\- The pharmaceutical-company? - asked back Barnes, following his short seconds of consideration; he has definitely heard the name beforehand - But these people only developed drugs. What possible harm they could have possessed?

_The silence that has came after the unintentional-sarcasm was shrieking across the hollow; it was Markson's threatening-screech all over again._

\- Yeah, _right_ \- said Bethany with a disgusted note in her voice; this was not sent towards the ex-marshal, however - PSRI; Pharmaceutical-Services Research Institution - she pronounced the entire word that the abbreviation has stood for; it was not the shortest one might have dreamed up as the name of their company - Do you know how many drugs they have managed to pass by the FDA in the past years, dating back to their establishment, 2009? - Chris has shrugged; the female has carried on - None; their response to the public was that the drug they are _still_ working on requires a _great_ length of time to be properly tested and produced; personally, I think that to be the most obvious lie in the world, but heed me no extra attention for that - she was about to continue, but, growing a bit impatient, Markson was hoping to hustle the speed of the events that were presently occurring.

\- So what is _your_ role in all this? Of course, only if I have the „clearance"? - he smiled, sarcastic with all of his bones (which, considering that they have now belonged to an owl, were hollow).

Bethany sighed, glanced away, into the distance again, for a moment, then faced Barnes as she spoke.

\- I will not tell you of who I was working for; the only thing you need to know is that my work was to... collect and deliver sets of crucial informations to a _specific_ group of people; an investigatory-agency, but this is all I will say; for now, that is - spoke Bethany, kept a pause for Markson that has enabled his brain to process this sudden rush of new facts.

\- Let me guess; you are with the CIA? - this has started out as a joke from the ex-marshal's side first, but, upon seeing the unwilling and instinctive facial-gesture the female has reacted with to the previous sentence, the smile was scratched off by an imaginary scraper from Barnes' face.

\- _No_ \- she replied suspiciously swiftly, making it clear to Markson that she was, in fact, an agent for the Intelligence Agency; Chris was still a government agent, and he knew _extremely_ well of how to read lies (however, sometimes, he did made mistakes, as everyone would have); the Spotted owl, with that latest „no" of her's, was, in fact, lying.

Still, the only thing was that, now, she was only an _ex_-agent for the CIA; the irony of the situation has almost succeeded in forcing the ex-marshal to laugh out loud. Two ex-agents in one hollow? It was _almost_ too ironic - _nearly_.

Although he has felt that, with this thought, he might have just crossed a non-existent and imaginary line, but he could not help but smile at the given situation, albeit he was cautious and discreet, as one would have expected him to be in such a scenario.

It was only seconds later that the female has carried on with what she has had to say.

\- Of whom I have worked for is not the important matter, Markson - she emphasised on the name, still attempting to defend the lie that has stated that she was not involved with the CIA; this was, of course, since Chris has _easily_ deciphered without any extreme effort that she _was_ working for „Langley", hopeless to drag on now.

\- _Uhum_ \- hummed Barnes incredulously, hoping to show Bethany that it was _way_ too late to use a bluff now, therefore she should either focus on telling the truth, or steer away from the topic, and carry on with what was called „mandatory to know" by her, just a few minutes into the past - Would you mind to continue? - he inquired with an impatient tone of voice, signaling to the Spotted owl that she _should_ hurry up; he was not wishing to leave her with any alternatives for this time, out from the not-so-many.

\- Of course not - she narrowed her eyes, but returned them to their neutral positions as she has, with a slight lateness, went on - Now, I was tasked to do a bit of... intelligence-gathering on the PSRI, as my agency has considered them to have been overly-suspicious in the five or four years - she has shook her head, slowly, as if a massive weight was sitting on not only her skull, but her heart as well; not a human anymore, but Bethany did sounded like one who might have been a serious agent; enthusiastic and always on the point.

How come she has ended up here, like this? Not that being _physically transformed_ into a bird was some form of _purgatory_, but how?

\- I must have been discovered; my cover as an FDA inspector has granted me access to most areas my agency wished to know more about, and I have liberated myself to look around some _not_-so-public offices, research-wings, and laboratories as well. The joys of being under a cover, I guess! - she exclaimed the last sentence with a sad and disappointed-in-self smile; Markson could, deep-down, feel a sorry for her, but had not yet wished to let it entirely surface.

It was now clear to him that, indeed, they were similar - both being agents who have went through their own style of a „downfall".

\- How do you think your cover was blown? - questioned Barnes, to which the female has replied to with a slightly more energetic sentences; after realising that she has sounded like as if she has switched over to the offense, the Spotted owl took away the frustration from her tone - My cover was perfectly kept intact, even during my requested „evacuation", I was in the clear! - her voice's volume has increased once again, but swiftly decreased after her above mentioned self-realisation; she sighed deeply and painfully before carrying on - Well, it does not seems as such now, does it? - she laughed at herself in a light manner; _now_, the empathy was no longer hidden by the ex-marshal.

He reached out with the tip of his wing again, resting it gently on the female's left shoulder (the upper, bending-section of _her_ flight-organ), sending a friendly and sympathetic glance towards her eyes while doing so.

\- What did you find out, during your investigation? - asked Chris, hoping that he would not be regarded as too _invasive_ with all these questions about a, presumably, covert-operation - If you do not mind me asking? - he added to suppress the previously mentioned, in the case that it would have occurred.

\- Experiments and scientific-discoveries that you would never believe, unless you have seen them with your own eyes - she said distractedly, as if she was under the effects of a... mind-altering drug (which, usually, would not have _necessarily_ been legal); Chris has now retracted his wing - Ever wondered of why you have _crossed over_? - she asked rhetorically, not waiting or expecting for an answer - Well, the PSRI must have had a grudge against you, of why, I do not know; after all, you were just an air-marshal. Why would you be in their way? - but she has not continued on with her last verbalised-thought; however, she has left a short space here for breathing - Of what I have found out, they are in the possession of this... _item_ they have usually referred to as „The Anomaly"; from the documents I have been able to run through, this _thing_ is able to initiate a process that would _rip_ someone out from _our_ world, to say simplistically - she has now gazed and has established an eye contact with Markson.

\- Wait for a second there! - he stopped Bethany as she was about to continue with this nonetheless _fascinating_ topic of, assumably, science (this is stated here as such, as Barnes had not a clue if this was even inside _any_ of the fields of science) - When you say „rip", I... could you just go into further detail on that? - asked the ex-marshal, an awkward mix of smile and confusion settled on his face.

\- Okay, maybe „removed" would be a more fitting word; quite literally, you are _crossed over_ by the so-called „Anomaly" into _this_ world we are in, _right now_ \- she sighed, sounding minorly hopeless as she was doing so - It is unknown of why or how this occurs, and, from what I was able to gather on the PSRI, even they have no solid theories about this - she kept another break to take a breather, then carried on - As this process occurs, one would... _metamorphose_ into an organic creature that fits the „destination-world". Here and now, _owls_, as they appear to be the ones who are the primary „civilisation" of this _place_ \- she concluded her long explanation.

\- So we got _screwed over_ by some fake-pharmaceutical company; why? - asked Barnes, almost demanding to know a proper and satisfying answer.

\- Well, they had done this to me to keep me out of the way. You? I would have no clue - she replied, almost sounding like as if she was feeling regret for not providing a sufficient answer.

The two have allowed silence to take over the hollow for a few minutes, the only audible sound to both of them being their own, individual heart-beats; Bethany's steady and calm, and Markson's excited and drumming in his chest.

They were not talking; for them, there was nothing else to talk about.

At least, not without a lingering sensation of unsureness; apparently, they both had this _PSRI_ as their ill-wisher.

Markson was the one who have felt it as his _task_ to break this absence of sound.

\- Did you kill her? - he asked suddenly and abruptly, only raising his eyes at the Spotted owl a few seconds after, who appeared to be overly confused at this question; Chris has hurried on to help her out - The family in this hollow. Did _you_ kill _them_? - he gave a careful and short glance towards the bodies, but swiftly returned his look to the female bird.

\- No, I have not - she spoke, and the ex-marshal could hear that she was telling the _truth_, not bluffing, like she was when asked about her affiliation with the CIA - When I came to my senses, the bodies were already in here, _dead_ \- at this response, an idea has surfaced in Barnes' brain.

\- So... let us just think this through; you have just stated that when you have regained consciousness, the bodies were in here - Markson has just basically repeated Bethany's previous sentence; she has nodded as a response - I have been told by my associates that _screams_ came from these hollow before the murders have occurred. Your voice, specifically - the ex-marshal has narrowed his eyes; an outraged and insulted emotion has placed itself on the Spotted owl's face.

\- I have just said that I am innocent, and you are charging me with murder, _again_? - she spoke, shaking her head slowly and angrily - I took you to have a more logical mind than _this_, Markson - the latter-mentioned has ignored the offensive comment, and attempted to settle down the situation.

\- Well, if it was not you, who was it? _Another_ Bethany? - taunted Chris, but realised that maybe, just _maybe_, he should not be turning to an offense, especially not against the one who was his _only_ currently known „link" to the notion of what he has took as „reality".

The Spotted owl's eyes flashed, telling the ex-marshal, without the use of conventional speech, that he should _back off_.

Then, unexpectedly, her face changed towards something that resembled emotionless, and, after, the former has transformed into a state of amazement; her eyes opened up wide, and glinted with the light of realisation and revelation.

\- _Precisely_ \- she spoke the single word, however, Barnes required the length of a second to establish the connection between his previous, sarcastic sentence, and the female bird's latest response.

\- What „_precisely_"? - asked Markson, noticeably somewhat _baffled_ by the owl's earlier, single word - You mean that the murderer _was_ another Bethany? - he questioned, not hiding his skepticism in connection with the topic.

\- So they _have_ found a way to do it - spoke the Spotted owl again, in a similar manner as the last time, only achieving to obtain another set of confusion and perplexity from Chris.

\- Would you mind to share your thoughts? - inquired the ex-marshal, slowly shaking his head, showing to the female bird that he had _not a single clue_ of what she was speaking about.

\- PSRI - she pronounced the four letters that, since her explanation, appeared _slightly_ more corrupt and ominous to Barnes - While... while I was at their headquarters, in Boston, MA, I have came across a collection of hidden research-papers, and... - she sighed, apparently, a heavy burden weighing her down. There; she has suddenly knew of _how_ she was _crossed over_, into this world. Without Markson's questioning around, she might never have recalled these events.

At least not anytime soon.

\- The scientists at the PSRI have posited that, if that thing they have called „The Anomaly" would be used _accordingly_, it could _cross over_ one's consciousness, leaving the body, well... _empty and dead_ \- she said with a slight hint of fright; essentially, she has just concluded that, in the _real_ world, she was no longer alive.

Even if there was a way to _cross back_... it was hopeless and impossible for her; in the best case, she could have woke up in a coffin, eventually suffocating. In the worst case... there would be no body to return to. _Many people have still choose cremation over a regular burial_.

She has extorted these thoughts from her brain, took a deep breath to re-regulate her breathing, then carried on:

\- The documents have also mentioned that, once _crossed over_, the host-less consciousness would invade the closest intelligent and organic creature's brain, and, in a short timespan, „overwrite" the said creature's consciousness - the female owl has looked across her own body, as if the structure of her plumage and feathers has instantly began to interest her; obviously, this was not the case. A moment later, she has glanced back up at the ex-marshal - I believe that Bethany was in the _worst_ place, at the _worst_ time - she stared off into the distance, severely attempting to avoid _any_ type of eye contact with Barnes - I guess we could say that, _technically_, I have killed Bethany - devastation has struck down on the ex-CIA agent, silencing both owls in the hollow for an almost unbearably lengthy time, once again covering the whole interior in quiet and personal contemplation and unheard thoughts.

\- This still does not answers our main question; if not you, and neither the... _original_ Bethany, then who is our murderer? - he paused for a moment, then proceeded to conclude, after an inaudible sigh - I think we should abandon the topic for now - he focused his supportive gaze on the innocent and, momentarily, vulnerable ex-agent, his heart, for some reason that he was unable to explain, _ached_ for her.

It is not that Markson has _never_ felt empathy, that is not what is attempted to be stated here; it was just that... Chris could feel _something_, like some type of invisible connection between _this_ Bethany and himself.

\- So? - began the Spotted owl with a short question - I have told you what _I_ know about this whole _murder_. What happens now? - another set of quietness followed, then the ex-marshal has concluded his task, of what he asked to do.

After all, Valery and Irvis have not _actually_ specified an objective for him to be achieved; he has recovered important information, and made contact with a suspect who was more of a victim, in reality - if this was not a result, Chris was not an owl.

\- Now... - he began, appearing unsure, but not even being near that in his personal thoughts - Now I will walk you out of here, and tell my... _overseer_ to arrange a transport for you back to this place these owls call the Great Tree - Bethany has tilted her head slightly to one side, questioning the point of this plan; noticing this, Barnes has proceeded to expand on his idea - You just keep that act on you did when Latimer - my other associate - was in here, okay? We will pretend that you have been framed for this... well, _murder_ \- the last word has tasted bitter in Markson's mouth, so he swallowed; his saliva has barely slided down his throat - Once we are back at that Tree, we can arrange a private meeting spot; together, with the information you could provide and I could acquire, we could work out of what this murder was about; who was the murderer, what was the aim. Will that be fine with you? - as a response to this, Bethany has nodded, then, with an awkward-to-see effort, she has stumbled to her feet.

Two seconds later, she was standing upright, roughly the same size as Chris, if it was the heights we were wishing to measure here.

\- Ready then? - inquiried Barnes for another, final time.

\- Ready as much as you are - nodded the Spotted owl again, seemingly having a bit of difficulty with walking.

Chris has protectively placed a wing around her, and supported her with moving forward; the two have slowly, but surely, headed towards the entrance (and, in the same time, exit) of the hollow, giving out a silent sigh of relief as they have now left this enclosed space behind, being glad that they would not be required to spend even just another second with the three deceased bodies.


	12. Bloody Incognito

**Fellow readers! I am proud to announce that this story is now also available at Inkitt (for those who do not know, another story-sharing site), and it has already been a few days since it was processed and approved.  
So, if some prefer Inkitt as their primary reading platform, you are in luck!  
On the matter of reviews, though; I still gladly take any- and everything that might prove to be helpful, and gladly answer _most_ questions of my readers.**

_**I do not own the Guardians of Ga'Hoole series.  
****I take all characters that do not belong to Kathryn Lasky as my own characters and creations.**__**_**  
**_**__**The Federal Air Marshal Service and the Transportation Security Administration are not my creations.**_

Bloody Incognito

_Northern-Ambala, Southern-Kingdoms_

_Close to 2:08 a.m._

_Christopher Barnes Markson, ex-TSA_

An ice-cold raindrop has abruptly landed on Markson's feathered head as he has stepped out from the hollow, the realistically limping Bethany held steady while moving by his right, extended wing, making sure that she would not fall over from her momentary absence of balance.

A lesser number of gazes and glances have met the two as they have exited the interior of the tree, as many of the previously seen owls have already took off in a swift flight, either because of their duties that were to be attended back at Ga'Hoole, or - and this was the more likely factor - they have managed to foresee the signs of the coming storm: the dark clouds that have rolled in ten minutes ago, the slow disappearance of the stars from one's visual range, and the enormous waves of the wind that were, even now, violently whistling through the leaves and branches of the forest.

Irvis was quick to pick up on the fact that Barnes has finished the task he was, one-fourth of an hour ago, requested from him; he did a circular motion with his right talons to the group that has escorted the ex-marshal to this very place, then hurried off, on foot, to the former.

\- Have you got what we need? - he shouted over the deafening scream of the wind, which was growing louder and worse as the minutes kept passing; the owl has sent a questioning look towards Bethany, but no one has really paid much attention to this - I have not seen a storm like this for years! With this weather on our tail-feathers, we need to leave before the conditions for flight become unbearable; we literally have minutes to decide on that! - his voice was heavily suppressed by the constant gusts that kept hitting them, but Chris was still able to take out every single word. However, just _barely_.

\- Well, if you are expecting a confession, I do not think it is your lucky day! - replied the ex-marshal with an increased volume of speaking, close to hitting the brink to which he could physically have raised his voice's level of hearability to - She is not the murderer, she is innocent; I can prove it, but not here, and not now! - he needed to squint against the force of the wind, as his eyes were dried clean by now, and were beginning to sting with a mild, but still disturbing pain - Do you have some two named _Hakan_ and _Marek_ around? - he placed an additional emphasis on the names, as much as his throat has allowed him to, so, even if Irvis would have been unable to hear his sentence, the two names, which he, assumably, knew of, would have gave the context away anyway.

\- Waiting for us, yes, at the outer-branches of this tree - the Corporal motioned towards a collection of owls, perching a few meters away from them - I know of the transportation-method you have suggested and used; however, I believe that, in this wind, even if you just unfold your wings, you would be able to glide along with the... - Markson has suddenly understood the notion of the bird's idea, and, with a sarcastic laugh, swiftly dismissed it with his response.

\- Do not even think about it! - he began to slowly walk forwards, and, with him, so did Bethany; they approached the branch the ex-marshal has travelled on when Valery took up the burden of moving him from the Tree to this place... the forest of „Ambala", or something - Get me those two I have mentioned, they will know what to do! - Irvis, reluctantly, as if he still have had a reason of dislike to hold against Chris, nodded and replied something, however, due to the fierceness of the weather, not a word was audible; Markson just went ahead and figured that the Corporal has agreed to his preference.

Before letting him to go, though, the ex-marshal has added another short sentence to his previous request:

\- Oh, and you might want to tell them that they will be required to carry double the weight as they did on the way here, so they might want to be prepared for that! - Irvis nodded, then turned his back towards Chris, heading off in the direction of the outer-branches that were shaking in such an extreme fashion that Markson would not have _dared_ to approach them.

\- Are you saying that they will not be able to hold my weight? I can assure you of quite the opposite! - spoke Bethany in a measured volume that only Barnes could hear, smiling in a light and pleasant fashion.

\- Are you saying that they will not be able to hold _my_ weight? - laughed Barnes, turning his head towards the bird, _then_ losing himself for a few moments in the pervasive gaze of the female owl's coal-black eyes; but, inside that coal, there was a fire burning.

A fire of determination, the urge to assist; from what Markson could see, she was eager to offer help towards the solution of this murder-case, _and_ to give more information to the ex-marshal about this PSRI organisation.

Then again, Chris had doubts if it was, indeed, the fire of determination that he saw; if he would have been required to be _utterly_ honest, he would have took that flame as the fire of... _feelings_.

No, not even „feelings" - a more fitting word would have been _sentiments_.

Nevertheless, forcing himself to focus back on his original task, Chris gave his head a light shake, to clear it out, then kept on going in his slow and supportive pace, until they have approached the broken-off piece of a tree that the ex-marshal has used as his way of transport, instead of flying.

For him, it was _anything_, but flying.

He helped Bethany up on the branch, carefully explaining to her to not put too much tension into the process of perching, as it would way to easily drain away her talons' energy, and loosening up one's grip mid-air could have resulted in a rather... frightening and panicky experience - Barnes managed to find this out the hard way, and he was now developing others' safety from the correction of his own faults.

Also, some of his „Biology 101" memories have played an important part in this „show-and-learn" demonstration.

\- Remember, owls can shift one of their claws to the back, so they would have two toes on the front, and the back. Yeah... something like that! - he commented as Bethany has experimented around with this part of her new, and yet unknown physiology; even though she has just crossed a few hours ago, she appeared to be a quick learner, as the female bird was picking up every piece of advice with an unbelievable proficiency, as if she was doing this for quite a while - Now, just stand on this branch here, and take a moderately strong grip on it, just enough for you to not slip and fall of mid-air - Bethany did as told, once again, successfully completing of what she was asked to do for the very first time.

Irvis has collected Hakan and Marek from the faraway section of the birch-tree, and these two were now assembling into a pair, ready to lift off with the carried weight of both Markson and Bethany, the latter already strongly perching on the broken-off branch, and the former getting ready to do so.

Just then, entirely unexpectedly, the female Spotted owl gave out an abrupt cry of pain and agony, pressed her right wing against her chest, roughly where here stomach-area would have been; Chris has jumped onto the carrier-branch with a speed that has even caught him by surprise, and leaned in front of the bird, so that his face was close to hers, which would have made sure that, even if partially in shock, she would still hear the words Markson was about to speak.

\- Are you feeling all right? - he questioned, only to be answered by not words, but minimal spray of blood that has now tainted his face, to which he reacted by snapping his head away; Bethany definitely had something wrong with her on the inside, potentially with her organs, as she was coughing up a negligible, and yet still worrying amount of her vital fluids.

Even a few seconds later, she was unable to answer, which has led Barnes to shout over the volume of the roaring wind.

\- I need some help over here! - as a swift response to this, three owls have came to the rescue, carrying something that looked like some type of makeshift gurney, constructed out of animal hide and two, strong branches.

By this point, Bethany was twitching in an involuntary fashion, panic spreading from her now glassy eyes.

\- What happened to her? - asked one of the birds, a female Barn owl, with an unusually dark plumage around her chest-area; while waiting for a delayed response, she shouted over to another pack of owls who were currently observing the events from a respectable and non-disturbing distance - Someone get me four claw-counts of _Thuja occidentalis_, and make it quick! - then, the owl turned back to Chris, staring at him, expecting an answer to be spoken, and soon.

\- I... I do not know, she just started coughing up blood! - he replied, feeling confused, frightened, and disgruntled; Bethany was his only potential connection to valuable information he was eager to acquire. What cruel twist of fate would have been so apathetic to take all that away from him?

In the meantime, a fourth bird has arrived with a metal instrument that has looked exactly like the one that Markson was injected with in his... hours of hostility (his violent scene that was caused back at the Great Tree's infirmary), and a material that resembled a thin piece of fabric.

As of the response, the female Barn owl just simply sighed and shook her head in what appeared to be anger, and ordered two other birds to lay Bethany down on the gurney-looking object; another pair of brown-feathered owls came over, one wiping the above mentioned fabric to the Spotted owl's beak, and the other appearing ready to inject the contents of whatever was inside the metal instrument.

Noticing and registering this as a form of hostility, Chris attempted to defensively approach the female, who was screaming (as a human) and screeching (as an owl) as if those birds were torturing her; and, on top of everything, she was still twitching violently.

\- Hey! Get off her! - he shouted, but the female Barn owl halted him in movement with her right wing, and even gave Barnes a meaningful push, just to show that she was not messing around.

\- Let he healers do their job, _Silverbeak_! - at the moment the ex-marshal has heard the name, he suddenly got hit by the feeling that, just maybe, this Barn owl might not be his new, potential best friend.

\- What are they doing to her? - asked Markson temperamentally, the flashes of intimidation almost radiating from his blue eyes, creating a quite contradictory sight of his visual organs, to say the least.

\- They are checking her blood for traces of long-period poison, and sedating her into an artificial coma that will last no longer than one hour; basically, healing her! Nothing in _your_ field of expertise! - shouted the Barn owl over the constant, impenetrable volume of the raging storm; she did not even bothered to establish a respective eye contact with Chris. She just simply kept staring at the now silenced Bethany, whose feathered body was still twitching, but was beginning to become motionless by the passing seconds.

She almost appeared to be dead; but, luckily, Markson was experienced enough to know the difference.

\- _My_ field of expertise? - questioned Barnes, hoping that it was only the storm that was disrupting the words his ears perceived; who the hell was this Barn owl thinking she was! Chris understood that he has done some _difficultly pardonable_ actions in his first waking hours, but he was attempting with his hardest to redeem himself.

Purely, he was feeling frustration towards those who were, as matters appeared like, unable to discern these facts.

\- Would you care to explain of what... - however, before ex-marshal would have been able to state his question, Irvis lighted down next to him on the birch's branch, with an extreme impact that has, fortunately, left him without any permanent damage.

\- Save your introductions for later! - he shouted over the roar of the wind and, since a minute ago, ice-cold rain - We have a _massive_ storm incoming, and, if we do not get out of here in the next few _seconds_, we will have to wait until it passes! And, for the record, I will not even _attempt_ to fly through a storm-barrier! - Chris stared at him blankly, with his beak dropped open, as a reply, physically not being able to believe of how awfully impolite everyone just, in all of a sudden moment, became.

Seeing that Markson was not reacting in any way, shape, or form, the male bird gave another verbal push to the ex-marshal.

\- When I say that, I do mean the word „hustle"! - he cried out over the rain and wind, to which, finally, Barnes has came to his senses, and, with a speed even surprising to himself, jumped, and perched onto his „transportation-branch".

The next few seconds were exactly like some type of fast-forwarded movie or scene to Markson; every single owl that were out on the field, whizzing by like shadows in the now extreme rain, some taking off early to form the vanguard and to scout ahead for any potential dangers this weather might have kept as a surprise; for some weird and unexplainable reason, audible sound appeared to be dampened for Chris, as he was, even right now, attempting to focus on an on-going conversation between his two carriers, Hakan and Marek, but, simply, only muffled sounds reached his ear-slits, and nothing intelligible followed those noises.

Time has, once again, ceased to exist for the ex-marshal, and the whole duration the flight took back to Ga'Hoole has came across to him as a flat minute, losing his sense to acquire the whole hour that has passed by in reality.

He only realised that he was back at the Great Tree when Irvis and Valery have successfully snapped him out from his almost comatose-like state; Barnes has blinked around for a few moments, and took a set of seconds to visually acquire and process of where exactly he was.

Well, _almost_ snapping him out from this comatose-like state; at least, we can safely say that it had no connection to the weather.

_Arrival and Take-Off Branches, Great Ga'Hoole Tree, Southern-Kingdoms_

_Close to 3:13 a.m._

_Christopher Barnes Markson, ex-TSA_

He was in some kind of alternate world that was populated with intelligent, talking owls (and, potentially, other types of birds as well that beared the same, or, at the very least, similar characteristics); Chris, himself, was also an owl, as, by some inexplicable scientific-phenomenon that was, more than likely, artificially induced, he was metamorphosed into this bird of prey, and _crossed through_ some type of... _interdimensional-barrier_, and, finally, ended up here, at this place, which was populated with intelligent, talking owls.

And he, himself, was also an owl of some unknown species; has he mentioned that yet? To himself? Or to anyone else?

But who _was_ anyone else? Figments of his cracking imagination, or conscious and individual minds?

What was this location anyway; imagination, or reality? What _was_ reality? And what _was_ imagination?

The ex-marshal was coming to feel as if he was stuck in some _extremely_ strange drug-trip, but there were two facts that could have easily denied this theory; first of all, he never used any type of illegal, or recreational drug in his life, ever - especially not on the airplane. Anyone could have recalled such an experience without any exquisite effort of a mind!

On the second point, however: he, on all levels, comprehended to the fact that what he was conceiving for the past few days still _is_ reality, be it as unbelievable as it momentarily was.

Then again, what was the exact definition of reality? The word „reality" itself could not have been - that option sounded, and was, way too simple! Was the idea of „reality" itself even real? What if not?

If so, who was Markson? No, in fact, _what_ was Markson? If one takes away all the recognisable characteristics of a person, are they still a person? Or just an empty shell, with a collection of electrostatically-attracted atoms, mostly consisting of carbon, hydrogen, nitrogen, oxygen, and about seventy-six percent of hydrogen oxide?

All of a sudden, Barnes head began to feel heavy; too much to think about, too much to accommodate in his head. Was he having a cerebral hemorrhage? Why would he even have one in the first place?

He cautiously touched his right wing against his beak, which emitted a physical sense as if it was planning on disattaching from his body, and was about to fall off from his face; essentially, an uncomfortable pain has hit his head, as if it was a lightning that has struck down on him from the raging storm.

Lowering his wing in front of himself to be able to see, Chris visually acquired a thin streak of blood that has stained his otherwise light-brown feathers to an alarming red.

Looking up, and although he was unsure of it, but he believed that he has established eye contact with Valery - but it could have been Irvis at the same time; everything surrounding him was spinning too violently for him to judge the previous.

Before failing to hold onto the physical world and losing consciousness for about the fifth time in the past two, or... three days now (however, this time not actually understanding the real or logical cause for this), his eyes managed to focus in for one split of a second, which, in a normal scenario, would have been an insufficient length of time to visually acquire anything that would have been of any use.

But, of course, Markson did not belonged to the generally accepted norm, and this was not due to the momentary reason of him being an owl; being here _and_ being alive in the first place has made him special enough anyway.

What he saw would, if not in the middle of falling unconscious, assumably have made his eyes open wide: the same owl who was keeping a keen and attentive eye on him back in the library. He (judging from his plumage, however, Chris was unsure of _why_ he was able to identify an owl's gender by its feathers, and of how he has managed to do so in less than a single second) was standing in a similar position, blending into the background, apparently not wishing to draw the ex-marshal's attention to his suspicious and thoughtful gaze.

With this, obviously, he has failed, as Markson's eyes, even if just for a moment, were in contact with the bird's - whose _real_ identity was currently unknown.

However, it was a pity that once he would awake from his unconscious state, Barnes would not remember the last ten minutes.

He could feel himself slowly falling in a forward direction, realising, but not caring about the fact that everything was growing dark around him.

He figured that either Irvis, or Valery (maybe both of them) would catch him, preventing his body from breaking something on his face; may it happen as it should, frankly, Chris could not be highly bothered about it.

After all, he was unconscious, again, for another time, and so on.

_The Infirmary, Great Ga'Hoole Tree, Southern-Kingdoms_

_Close to 4:23 a.m._

_Christopher Barnes Markson, ex-TSA_

The stabs awoke him from his state of blankness, first only coming into his blacked-out mind as mild senses of a needle penetrating his skin, then he, eventually, came to the conclusion that, indeed, he was being injected with something.

His eyelids snapped open, and he sat up as much as he could, supporting his loss of balance with his unfolded wings, gasping for air as he noticed that he could not breath normally.

Instantly, two owls arrived to aid him, one placing a wet fabric on his chest, presumably to cool him down, and the other moving his left wing up and down in front of Barnes' face, as to acquire his attention and focus.

\- I am sorry to cut it to you, Markson, but you have been out for at least an hour - Chris recognised the authoritative and respectful voice without any recollection of thoughts; Valery, Lance-Corporal.

\- What happened? - moaned the ex-marshal, raising his right wing to his head, shutting his eyes with a great force, albeit even more was required to pry them open again - Where am I now? - he asked weakly, and was granted a reply in almost no time.

\- You have went into some type of shock as soon as we have arrived back, though Hakan suspected that you were already in this state about halfway-across the Hoolemere - spoke the female owl, allowing the previous to sink in, then carrying on - You are currently in the infirmary, with me and Irvis. I guess this shock was induced by your brain realising of where it _actually_ is - her voice was like a melody in a foggy graveyard, keeping Markson's mind afloat and away from an eerily inviting, imaginary grave.

Turning his head downwards, Chris scanned around his feathered body, and discovered the source of the light pain he was experiencing only about a minute ago; by this time, Valery was removing a needle-looking object from his right side, right around from his lower-chest section. A minimal amount of stained blood marked the location of where the point of penetration once was.

His memories were correct, and it was, indeed, a similar, syringe-like instrument, however, luckily, not the same one that was used on Markson when his immediate sedation was required; this seemed so far behind him, momentarily, as if it has occurred years ago.

\- We were hoping to ask you a few questions about the young owl you have interrogated - the last word echoed through the infirmary hollow in a vicious and intimidating way; Bethany's and Chris' conversation was _anything_ but an aggressive interrogation.

\- I... - for a moment, panic jolted through the ex-marshal's neurons, but this fear has swiftly passed, as the now somewhat alert Barnes' memories began to flood back into his brain; still, this momentary headache was rather tough and unpleasant, which has led to his response - I can remember everything about the girl, but can I just... could we do this later? - he glanced pleadingly over at Irvis, an action which neither of the three would have expected to see at any time - This headache is unbearable! - he hissed between his beak, shutting his eyes tightly, again.

\- Is she the same as you are? She is from a... _different_ place, is not she? - questioned Valery, causing Chris to quickly snap his head towards the female owl; this gaze communicated everything through that she had wished to know. Essentially, the ex-marshal has just replied to her inquiry.

\- You knew about this, did not you? - smiled Markson, an unlikely reaction to have come from him; things with this Bethany have worked out way too simply for them to be an utter coincidence. Irvis and Valery have _wanted_ him and the female Spotted owl to meet; this now became obvious to Barnes.

The Lance-Corporal has responded with a matching action towards the ex-marshal, nodding, but only once, and even that was barely noticeable.

However, Irvis spoke instead of her first.

\- Remember that parchment I have received during your questioning? - he asked, to which Chris has nodded to - That was from Valery here; her preliminary briefing about this so-called Bethany - he kept a short pause, but kept his eyes on the ex-marshal; albeit Markson was not returning the look, he could still feel it sharp edge on his feathered head - She mentioned the same words you did, that... „Massachu-something". At that point, I pretty much knew that you two must be connected in some way - he concluded, although left quite a few questions open to the ex-marshal.

„But, after all, we are not actually connected; we are just a coincidence!", thought Barnes, but was not feeling confident enough to share his theory yet - mostly because he did not have any.

\- He flew to Ambala after that, to the place where you just have been - continued Valery, instead of the Corporal; this was not a complication to Markson, though, as he liked her voice better anyway - He told me about you, your presumed story, of what you have done. I told him to stay on the scene, and then I returned here, to Ga'Hoole, where I have waited for the right moment - she beamed another smile towards the ex-marshal - I realised right away that when Byran has stormed inside the Search and Rescue chaw's hollow, furious and appearing dangerous, only an owl of your caliber could have _frinked_ him off. After all, Irvis has been through with your style, more or less - she nodded towards the Corporal, who, this time, also gave place for a nostalgic smile.

For a moment, Chris did not acted, but paused to think for a few seconds; not that there was no point to carry on this doubtlessly informative and conscious-easing conversation, but there was something in the back of his brain that kept sparkling up again like a flame when placed from an environment with almost no oxygen into an environment of massive amount of oxygen; it kept coming forward for a fraction of a short time, then fell back into the yet not-so-active section of the ex-marshal's brain.

Then, all at once, it just came to him - what he marked down as his priority once he arrives back at Ga'Hoole: to talk with Bethany.

\- Where is she now? - he asked, glancing from Irvis to Valery, then back at the Corporal, then back at the Lance-Corporal, at least three times in a row - And what happened to her? Did you birds managed to find that out yet? - his brain still felt somewhat disorganised and was swimming with random and non-relatable thoughts, next to the matter in there that was actually attempting to make logical sense.

Pictures about his time away in Paris, Florida, and Stockholm kept popping up, images of a past life which appeared to be somewhat far, yet still not left behind in the years that felt like an infinity.

\- Bethany? - it appeared as if she was hoping to avoid the topic of the female Spotted owl's current medical state, but, after a short reconsideration that she has accomplished with herself, the Lance-Corporal sighed, and gave out the information Barnes was seeking - She is in a stable state, however, our healers suspect that she may have been exposed to some form of consumable poison - she allowed this shocking piece of information to sink in for the ex-marshal (which it _did_ required to), then continued on with these grave, yet somewhat reassuring news - You have seen the early-effects of it kicking in, back in Ambala. It is what we call _Glaux's Touch_, however, the name itself is rather misleading; it is a mixture of poisonous herbs that can be, when mixed in the correct concentration, lethal - Chris' beak dropped halfway-open, the sight of panic and dismay obviously settling in his eyes; it was clear that this newly gained information has set the ex-marshal aback.

It would potentially have done it with anyone, who might have been closer than the norm to Bethany - family, close friends, and such; too bad that none of them were present anymore, or, at least, not in this _world_.

\- But do not worry, even just a bit, we got the problem under control, and the poison can easily be neutralised from her system; all we need is just time - with this, Valery was hoping to restore some confidence in Markson, essentially attempting to share with him that, although she _was_, indeed, poisoned, Bethany was not dead; she was not _that_ type of a kind, anyway - Of course, we were also thinking that, since you have managed to establish a _somewhat_ positive acquaintance in her, you might achieve a better result in keeping her on this side of the abyss - spoke the Corporal, yet this only attracted a questioning look out of Chris.

\- What would you need me to do, exactly? - inquired Barnes, albeit, instead of Valery, it was Irvis who now granted an answer to this question, which the ex-marshal was awaiting a swift response to.

\- Talk to her, keep her focused, however, before you do so, please answer our questions... - spoke the Corporal, but the latter section of his sentence was ignored by Markson.

\- Where is she? - the ex-marshal truly wanted to speed this up, as he, personally, did not believed that there was time for this, in this current minute.

Even then, at the very least, he did not wanted to arrive upon the sight of a suddenly _deceased_ Bethany.

\- The Spotted owl? - answered Valery with a question, as if she has wished to include a literary device in her sentence, which, evidently, was rhetorical, as she could not hold herself back from answering - We cleaned out a hollow and assigned it to her, temporarily; we were originally thinking of placing her in the same location as you, but dropped the idea, due to... - if not interrupted (and, to note, somewhat offensively) by Barnes, the female owl would probably have carried on for at least another solid minute, but, since her current monologue already began to feel like the physical-definition of eternity, Chris could not help; with every passing moment, impatience was eating him up from the inside, slowly gnawing through his hollow-bones, reaching deeper and deeper, right towards his... stomach-area, or somewhere near that.

For the past few days, he continued to have such impulses when a sudden feeling of panic, fear, or unsureness has managed to get through his titanium-like psychological-defenses, these... aches kept turning up around the above mentioned part of his digestive-system.

He did not knew what it was (which was also worrying him), but, momentarily, he could not care less.

What Bethany has promised to tell him was currently the thing that was meaning the world to him; _his_ world, from where he hailed from. Reality - the _real_ reality.

\- Listen, we can go through everything you want, but, please, let us just do this at another time, maybe after I have talked with her, okay? - Chris stared into the yellow and amber tinged eyes of Valery, pleading for her to have some mercy on him; after all, he has accomplished his task, and a verbal report could wait anyway, could not it? - Please - he gave another small push to increase his chances.

To shorten the ten seconds he was required to wait for a response from the Lance-Corporal, Barnes' „begging" had a successful effect.

\- All right, I would have no problem with thirty, _maybe_ forty minutes, _but_... - she emphasised the last word before trailing off for a second - ...Corporal Irvis must be the one to authorise this - the male got hit by this unexpectedly, for a moment not even realising of what Valery has just spoke out loud.

It took him a second or two, but Irvis nodded to Markson:

\- Go ahead, we can found you when we need you, anyway - he stated a well-known fact, and gave a light tap with his right wing to Valery's back, signaling her to walk with him, leaving Chris alone in the medical hollow, in a matter of seconds.

Only then the ex-marshal has only realised that, for one, he had _no clue_ of where he even currently was, and, for two, he was not keeping a GPS, let alone a map on him that has contained the momentary layout of this gigantic tree.

He was just about to shout after Irvis and Valery, hoping that they would be able (which they would have been) to grant his some type of navigational and directional assistance, however, an owl has entered the hollow before he could have, and Barnes was suddenly on the level of a one-hundred percent assurance that, regarding the matter of finding a way around, he will not meet any complications.

And all the previous was, because, approximately five seconds ago, Lyran, who, regarding his proficiency of common skills, has probably finished the packing away of those ancient books in the library roughly a minute ago, has opened his beak to greet the ex-marshal.

From there on, Markson's worries about getting lost in this massive maze of a tree instantly evaporated.

_Outskirts of the Great Ga'Hoole Tree, Southern-Kingdoms_

_Close to 4:29 a.m._

_Kenneth Zwegger_

Another job, and the dirtiest of all, at that; even though he sometimes questioned Fayer's motives and ideologies, not to mention The Director, back on the „home-side", Zwegger understood that this deed had to be done, and as soon as possible - an already extreme amount of information was leaked about the agency, and the best possible way to silence someone these days was to take care and get rid of them - permanently, while we are at it.

If Zwegger would currently have been living in a perfect world, a single bullet of a .308 Lapua Magnum could have took care of all of the agency's troubles, however, since he was not even in his own, original world and history in the first place, the usage of a firearm was to be automatically ignored.

Sending such items and equipment _over _here has not yet became an available possibility, and, although Fayer's operation has been ongoing for at least three months now, only a few, trusted personnel were directly involved from the agency; of course, there were a few... „collateral damages", such as this _girl_, or that TSA-grunt that somehow managed to cross over.

Zwegger has already visited this „Ga'Hoole-island" a few times beforehand, and, even though it was a fact for him that it still counted as hostile territory, full with the agency's targets, he could not help but forget the world around himself as he gazed upon its majesty every single time he flew here.

Then again, everyone would have - even Fayer himself, despite that he was a _hardcore_ agent, and still was, even now, in this _reduced_ physical form.

Be as condescending as it possibly could have been, the brave and resolute men and women at the institution essentially gave and devoted their life for their country, as not many would have openly volunteered to be sent into another world, with which, in the same time, they would abandon their physical bodies they were used to, since their point of birth, and all throughout their lives.

It was a great sacrifice, which was to be, without doubt, appreciated by the coming and future generations of all.

As all sacrifices, however, their results had to be protected and cared after, and this was the main reason of why he was present at Ga'Hoole tonight.

Zwegger himself, when sent over by the agency to accomplish his assignments, woke up as what he was identified by his fellow operatives a Short-eared owl, or „_Asio flammeus_", he was also told; the latter was to not rouse suspicion when it came to infiltration or trust-gaining missions. If there was one matter the agency could pioneer in, that was its professionality; not a single failed objective in the past three months that Fayer's team has spent here. When they were told to commit assassinations or murders, they would not take more than a few hours, and would leave no detectable clues behind - even when they did, that was done to usually frame someone for a killing.

Although he only spent two months here from the total number of three, Zwegger considered himself a half-decent flyer when it came to maneuvering and speed-flight, and, when he judged from his past „get-rid-offs" and regular daily combat training, his talon-to-talon fight was not that miserable at all - it was more of an _acceptable_ range.

Despite Zwegger's past experience at such employers as the North-American Federal Bureau and the United States Navy SEALs, growing used to a brand new body, and, with that, physiology, did proved to be rather difficult for him; it took him for a day to figure out how to walk on talons without tumbling beak-first into the dirt, and his flying instincts did not kicked until a month and two weeks ago, when he almost broke his neck in his futile attempt to flap his wings, to stay above the ground for at least more than five seconds.

But he was not an exception. They had all, the ones who came from the agency, started of like this, in a similar fashion to Zwegger; first only doing the „paperwork", as they called it - constant intelligence-analysis and physical training - and, as soon as they managed to figure out the instinctive-process of how an owl flew, they would immediately be assigned to infiltration and observation missions, assassinations, on-field interrogations, and similar deeds one would be expected to complete in a warzone.

As Fayer and his brave men and women (who were now, obviously, existing in the form of _owls_) were told by the agency, they should consider this place, in its entirety, a hostile world; they were the outcasts, and these birds were their enemies - only that, in reality, they volunteered to be casted out into an unknown and uncharted world that was not even their's. Even know, some of the reasons of why they were doing _what_ they were doing were unclear to a few in this team.

Nonetheless, at the end of the day, they were soldiers, and were not to raise any questions, be it reasonable, or just purely trivial.

Zwegger now turned his face towards the sky, and began scan the horizon for the sun that was to rise in a few hours' time; even though the dawn was still _only_ approaching, he could not afford to waste precious time, and, once again, scolded himself for being so easily distractable by hostile landmarks; he removed his weapon that he has stabbed into the wet wood of the lightning-scarred tree he was momentarily perching on, just around the outskirts of this small island.

If there was one thing he _truly_ admired in _this_ world, it was the unique development of these owls' close-combat weaponry; it was nothing extensively special, what is more, the „standard-issue" designs did not even differentiated from a small-sized metal dagger, from around the Medieval-Ages, and yet...

Some of these were astounding; specifically, this so-called „ice dagger" Zwegger was carrying, even now.

Constructed from some type of „ice" from this place of what these owls have called the „Northern-Kingdoms", these close-quarter weapons somehow managed to not only hold out for _days_ without melting, but were able to cut and penetrate skin!

Even though the detailed analysis and report that Fayer's team has sent back to the agency was quite thorough in most aspects, none in the institution were able to give a half-decent theory of how this could _possibly_ occur with only sharpened ice.

As another example, there was the dagger that Zwegger carried around with himself - a nice little craft he stole of this unknown owl that was calling itself a „rogue smith" all the time, dragging his constant repetition of the title to a point where Zwegger could not help, but claw his throat out earlier than he was supposed to.

It was a shame to some degree, this „smith's" death - it was obvious that some _real_ quality work has went towards the dagger's fabrication. As a prime example, the weapon had some expert precision-work on its dark-metal blade; probably achieved with hours of carving, this compact dagger had the suggestive image of an owl's sharp talons (ironically, much like Zwegger's), set in a position where they would be ready to strike on their enemies, on both sides of the blade. Some attempt of writing was also present, but only the first two or three letters were finished, for the rather clear reasons of the smith-owl's early death.

Suddenly realising that the first orange tinges the sun painted on the untouched, flaming sky of the dawn-time in the wake of every single morning were beginning to appear, Zwegger swiftly unfolded his left wing, reached towards the sling of leather-craft that was tightly fitted to the flight organ, and he loosened a strap on it with his right talons; he lifted his dark dagger, allowed the faint glint of the starts to reflect from it in the late-night air, then slid it into the customised, and improvised leather knife-holster.

He unfolded his right wing as well, and lighted off from the dead tree's branch with a few, but doubtlessly powerful flaps.

It was time for his short-notice assignment to be completed. If the intelligence he obtained from his insider-contact was correct, his time was already short, and was slowly starting to run out.

His short flight was probably around the length of a hundred meters, if not less; he had to personally admit that flying was, _indeed_, the simplest possible option when it came to moving from one place to the other, with, or even without, great haste.

He pulled off an effortless circle around the gigantic tree once he approached it, taking a great care of keeping his hidden dagger concealed - after all, that was the main reason of its compactness.

The other one was that a lesser cleaning of the bloodstains was required afterwards.

He decided to take the „back-entrance", and landed with undetectable silence at the now abandoned side of the tree's platforms; during his preliminary surveillances, he managed to find out that this area, when occupied, functioned as a training-ground for those who practiced talon-to-talon combat as a technique of self-defence, however, their fighting-style was somewhat different to what Fayer relied upon - this and that were either similar, or the exact same, but many aspects were, simply, unlike.

After his feet touched the wooden platforms, Zwegger took a quick glance around - not a soul that could have detected his entry. So far, everything was perfect.

_But the harder part of his plan was only to commence_.

He observed the approximate location of where they have took the girl for her immediate medical assistance. All he managed to place together from the words he managed to eavesdrop on during a regular fly-by was that the girl was poisoned somehow, and by someone.

Fayer's „Plan B", no doubt, for the possibility of a case in which his idea on how to frame this sneaky little CIA broad has not properly succeeded in time, and if she might have survived the poison, maybe administered the antidote in time - this was how it apparently has happened.

And this was why Zwegger was sent here in the first place.

To cut it short, he knew where he had to go: somewhere along the upper-branches of this tree, there was the girl, weak, exposed, but, potentially, guarded; the latter, however, did not mattered to him.

He was the type who usually crossed a problematic bridge when he came to it, and normally not planned ahead - bridges could be of many styles and types, and one could never predict of what he was going to walk across.

It took him a straight, light-stroll through the inside-bark of this tree for five minutes, and yet, Zwegger was still unable to spot a single one of these birds, and decided to hasten his pace, paranoid if he had kept his timing right, or just totally destroyed the work and effort put into the planning of this assassination; at his next turn to the left, he almost ran right into the ugly face of a Barn owl, but managed to avoid the stenching package of dirty feathers, but only by a very thin nut-hair.

The bird stared at him with his head turned around while he kept moving in the opposite direction in which Zwegger was walking towards; if he would not have been on an assignment, he would actually have took his time to go after him, and to finish him off in an isolated place - collateral damage, nothing more.

After all, every single one of these birds were categorised as „hostile" by him, and the agency.

An upwards slope followed, and this only one lasted for about five minutes - somewhat of a shortcut to the higher-stations of this tree, he has learned a few days ago, while he was still assigned to reconnaissance. An exhausting climb, yes, but, at least, it was rarely used.

A bird would rather fly than climb; now would not this statement be _naturally_ true?

He cut back from his almost running-stance again as he spotted some smudgy Long-eared owl, acquiring him in the exact moment as the avian has turned his corner, its foul odor detectable smelling from at least a mile off; however, before this glance could be seen by the bird itself, Zwegger swiftly turned his gaze to the right, as if the almost rotten-looking bark had kept so much interest in him.

Unfortunately, the owl _did_ accosted him, but, luckily enough, it was just a meaningless and regular greeting of someone who wants to appear polite as he passed by.

\- Morning! - he squawked annoyingly, but Zwegger kept a straight face, and forced himself as _much_ as he could to not flinch at the irritating sound of his speech.

He cursed in himself as he instinctively turned his head towards the bird; it was too late to now pretend that he did not realised that the owl addressed him with his single word. He was in no need of a witness that could have later popped up, stating that he saw someone suspicious coasting around this tree, _on foot_, even - _that was the biggest giveaway of the truth_.

Instead of blanking out and deliberately ignoring the avian creature, Zwegger replied on the uttermost politest way he could forcefully conjure out of himself.

\- Good to see you - he responded in a comfortably-audible level-of-voice, with his best form of acted-out, casual speaking-style; to make his whole reaction more convincing than it was in its current, default form, he also added a barely-to-clearly noticeable nod to the mix.

Since the ugly bird gave no apprehensive or distrustful glances towards him, Zwegger decided that, no, this owl was not a potential threat to the plan anymore.

He will be just another confused and panicked soul in a few hours, after the body will be found, but without any answers for the usual questions left behind.

The top-end of the sloped passageway was now, ultimately, reached by Zwegger, who, judging his required direction from the imaginary reconstructed layout of the upper-level branches, took a turn to the right, keeping a close eye the few other owl that were perching in the vicinity; the murder will be committed inside her current hollow, anyway.

His only _key_ objective was to go for the throat, so that there would be no screaming to alert anyone.

It took him another two left turns, a walk-over of a wooden platform that was intended to be a form of connective-bridge, and one change of direction to the right to finally, _visually_ sight the hollow he was searching for in his memories.

To be brutally honest here, it would not have been such a difficult task, even for an amateur (as Zwegger was _leagues_ away from _that_ level); two owls, both wearing a blue-coloured headwear that has, for the closest comparison, resembled an alternative version of a beret-hat, were standing in a position and stance that was literally _screaming out_ about them that, „yes, in fact, if you have not noticed, we are the guards over here".

Zwegger found it too ridiculous, and was unable to hold himself back from a merry grin (with his beak, on top of all) - this was all way too easy. One would expect infiltration and assassination to be a difficult, and, frankly, rather tricky job; and yet here he was, staring at two - presumably - unarmed „guards", wondering if their neutralisation will either take him four, or six seconds, in total.

He began to slowly approach, and it was then that he realised that, to some degree here, he crossed into the „too comfortable" territory; his underestimation will now require him to practice real-time planning and improvisation, as the two birds were, in reality, armed with metal daggers, that, to some extent, seemed to be just a _little_ bit lethal.

The latter were hanging attached to a animal skin-and-leather belt, weirdly enough; they pretty much served the same purpose as Zwegger's holster has, the only enormous difference here being that these were non-concealed, and were visible to anyone's naked eye.

Originally, Zwegger planned on a lightning-fast draw of _his_ dagger, then two stabs, one in each windpipe; but now, this seemed to risky, and, even if he would successfully finish one, the other would actually gain a decent chance in defeating him in combat.

Knowing that he was essentially _born_ to improvise, he would not have prefered a losing close-combat fight to be his last - he wanted to play this one safe, and the best way to keep a fight harmless was to finish the whole thing before it even began.

Therefore, he acted as the following describes.

He altered his slow pace to a significantly faster walk, which has almost immediately caught the attention of both guards; dearly hoping that they would act as Zwegger himself has predicted, he kept his speed up, and readied his left wing for a swift reaction.

His relatively small avian heart was pounding in his ribcage, but he paid no worry towards this - it was a sign that his adrenalin levels have already began to act up, which had a chance to assist him in the coming fight.

He did not panicked about size-differences - the two were Short-eared owls anyway, so they were the exact same in height and strength as Zwegger was; what is more, possibly, due to all of Fayer's training sessions, he might actually have been a bit stronger than the two birds.

\- Sorry, but this hollow is under restricted access for the moment - spoke the one on the left in a bored and monotonous voice; from his words, the deduction that he did not truly care was obvious.

However, he cared enough to not allow, by all means that were to be necessary, Zwegger to enter; after noticing that the latter was not even planning on stopping, the bird changed his stance from „uninterested" to „halfway-between careful and alert".

His colleague on his left already began to unholster his dagger.

\- Pal, I do not want to exercise offensive force on you; now, could you please, turn around, and... - he continued, hoping that his words will eventually intimidate the closing-in Short-eared owl enough, but, by the word „please", it was too late for both birds on guard.

Zwegger leaped forward, his left wing extended to its full length of an approximate seventy-nine centimeters, and, with its midway-section, which was still more bone than feathers, caught the owl - who was positioned on the right - in his windpipe; the avian creature gave out a surprised choking-sound on the impact, dropping his weapon as he reached up to his throat with an expression of disbelief settled on his face.

While his own, left wing was still extended, Zwegger used his right foot to gain a grip on his own dagger, wrenched it out from its animal-leather holster, spun around his personal axis so that he faced the still fully functioning owl (who was, by now, struggling to unholster _his_ weapon), and, with the same momentum, drove the sharp blade into the Short-eared's spinal-cord, potentially separating it in the process; a clean kill.

When the bird's eyes have met Zwegger's emotionless gaze, they were almost begging for a reason or explanation; he could see and determine from his avian-side instincts that his victim was still quite young, maybe a year old, two at the most.

He would not usually have, but, feeling somewhat remorseful for the bird's death, Zwegger gave him a poor form of an apology.

\- Nothing personal, kid, just doing my job - he spoke, yanked the dagger out from the rear-neck of the owl (who, at this, flinched, as if it was only a mosquito that has just gave him a bite), and, with a swift, disinterested slice to the left, opened up the young bird's neck, grabbing and pushing him backwards by his face, leaving him to, eventually, die on his own, and not paying attention in any shape or form to the small spray of blood landing on his face's feathers.

The late guard's colleague was still choking on his injury - quite literally - leaning down halfway towards the floor of the wooden platform, not posing a serious threat to Zwegger for at least another ten-to-fifteen seconds; he left no room for mistakes, and drove his dagger through the breathless owl's skull, that instantly ceasing to move from the complete destruction of his cranium.

The still-alive-and-breathing assassin took a moment, and a deep breath, glanced around with a fluid motion for any possible witnesses that might have ran to hide somewhere upon seeing the deadly-scene; when he settled in himself that not a single soul (now, not even the ones the two guards have had) were around, he unfolded his left wing, holstered his now blood-soaked dagger, then placed his flight-organ back to its original position.

Zwegger cleared his throat, gave a long exhale, then entered the hollow, slowly, as to keep the importance of this moment as a personal memory to himself.

Upon reaching the inside, he was honestly surprised to see of how plain, dull, and boring this hollow was; while some other living-areas in this tree were usually customly-decorated and contained their owners' personal belongings and goods, this temporally assigned place was as dull as dishwater, to live with the simile.

A regular, round-shaped hollow, containing nothing other than a nicely done, soft-looking nest of feather-downs (Zwegger, of course, knew that these things were, _technically_, serving the purpose of _beds_); there was one, and _only_ one living individual in this hollow, other than our master-killer, of course.

\- Bethany Losold? - asked Zwegger without too much emotion in his voice's tone, aiming his question at the innocent- and fragile-looking Spotted owl, who was currently taking up a comfortable position in the above mentioned „bed" of feather-downs - Are you Bethany Losold? - he repeated for a form of emphasis, and to show that he was meaning „business".

\- I am... - replied the confused and suspicious female owl, as it was only Markson who actually knew her full name, and this owl was clearly not the ex-marshal.

She had not a single clue or idea of who this Short-eared owl could have possibly been; but, as a second passed, something came to her mind.

Something that had cause her to freeze with the feeling of fear to the deepest marrows of her bones.

\- Well, in that case, I am here to forward a message from a few „friends" of yours - he extended his left wing, reached for his dagger, then, a second later, already held it in his right talon, locking his gaze with Bethany's - This is how the PSRI says „hi" to the CIA, in our book! - he hissed between the upper and bottom sections of his beak, then began to approach the female bird, who only had time to scream out two names.

\- Markson! - this was the first, then another came, which did not quite make sense to Zwegger, but he could not honestly care less about it at this point; the girl was panicking, and many would bring up random or unrelated matters when they were in such a state - Agent Peck! - she shouted out with an unbelievable level of volume again, however, by this point, it was too late for her.

Zwegger was holding her neck tightly, and she was already on the floor of the hollow, unable to do anything; Kenneth considered this an easy kill, but he believed in the saying that stated the words „an eye for an eye".

Back in their _original_ world, reports came out that a few employees of the agency were injured during Agent Losold's little infiltration mission, and some went blind for a lifetime, due to an exposion to a specific chemical compound.

Zwegger believed that it was time to repay these deeds, and what else he could have used for such a „procedure", if not his trusty, dark-bladed dagger?

He totally forgot about the risks of being heard, then compromised; he only wanted to hear this bird scream in agony and pain - he wanted a payback for all that she has done back in Boston.

_And he was going to have it here, and now_.


	13. Zwegger's Endgame

**Another chapter uploaded, however, for reasons which I am not yet willing to specify, we are nearing the end of Part One of Markson's story; although, there should be no worry, as the plot _will_ carry on _exactly_ from the point on which this Part will end.  
****Just thought that I will give a "heads-up" notice ahead of time, so it would not be a surprise when it actually happens.**

_**I do not own the Guardians of Ga'Hoole series.  
****I take all characters that do not belong to Kathryn Lasky as my own characters and creations.**__**  
**__**The Federal Air Marshal Service and the Transportation Security Administration are not my creations.**_

Zwegger's Endgame

_Upper-Tree Branches, Great Ga'Hoole Tree, Southern-Kingdoms_

_Close to 4:41 a.m._

_Christopher Barnes Markson, ex-TSA_

Markson and Lyran have already travelled three-fourth of their way up to Bethany's hollow when their ears have caught out the screaming that has appeared to freeze the night air in place; even the background sounds of light, harp-music, and the noises of casual conversations and chatters have ceased, leaving only the sinister blows of the wind to be heard, which were the parts of the latest storm's aftermath.

As soon as the two birds have acquired the audible sign of alarm and potential danger, they have exchanged a meaningful glance; the Barn owl's dark-night-like eyes flashed with a sign of caution, and the likeably amateur and always clumsy Lyran seemed to have disappeared from that gaze - replaced by someone who, indeed, could have been counted as a worthy and believable member of what these owls called the "Ga'Hoole Investigatory Division", first heard by Chris from Latimer, back in Ambala.

This was what Barnes and his companion were conversing about, during the other three-quarters of their journey to the Upper-Tree Branches; Lyran asked about Markson's little trip to the forest kingdom's crime-scene, to which the ex-marshal has responded to with a detailed and rather long story.

Right about the point where Lieutenant Latimer was mentioned, the Barn owl has cut into (somewhat politely, _somehow_) Chris' words, explaining that he was also a member, although junior, of this "Investigatory Division", often shortened as the GHID, by his telling. Turns out that, a few years ago, the so-called "Council of Ga'Hoole" has called for the establishment of a group that will be specified in the investigation of different crimes and occurrences that were, for some good and lazy excuse, outside of the Guardians' (another "group" that Markson was hearing about for the hundredth time) field of caring; essentially, it could have been regarded as an FBI for owls - the authority that is called in when something is out of the ordinary, and on a fairly higher level.

Honestly, Barnes did not mind - for him, it was better if someone else was talking, as he felt as if his brain was ready to fall apart any second.

He thought that he already have moved on from this matter, and has processed everything he personally needed to process, but, turns out, he was terribly wrong; that... _moment_ he was experiencing during the flight back to this tree was his mind _finally_ reaching a point where, if it would have been capable of speech, would have said that "wait a minute, something is not quite right here".

Lyran himself - the "amateur-doctor" - has theorised that this "condition-of-mind" should pass away soon, and will not linger around to bother Markson for long.

Back then, a few minutes ago, he sounded entertaining to Chris, but now, all the traces of a humorous-mood have evaporated from his face, and he asked a question from the ex-marshal that truly reflected that he was, now, up for his official duty.

\- I hope that, by now, you have figured out how to run with talons, as you will _have_ to keep up! - he spoke to the ex-marshal, even leaning in a bit, just to emphasise his words. Markson nodded as a response, and headed after the Barn owl who was already, nearly out of sight.

Running with talons was, of course, a foreign and unusual feeling of combinations of movements - Barnes considered himself to be running now, but he felt as if he was just, simply, hopping with speed.

He even attempted to flap a few with his wings; not enough to raise him off the ground, but hanging around the level of strength that would, at least, boost his movement, even if just in a minimal fashion.

Keeping up with Lyran, however, did proved to be a bit difficult for the Markson, albeit this bore no new surprises to him; the Barn owl was clearly used to his body, as he was born into it - this should not even require an explanation; while the bird was still in visual range, which was more common when no turns, or "corridors", where there to block Chris' sight, the latter has gave a try, and observed Lyran's style of running.

Even though it looked awkward, at least the owl was managing better than Markson currently was; Lyran had his head lower than usual, probably to have less air-resistance while in movement, and his wings tightly tucked at his side, probably for the same reason as above.

Chris, shamelessly, copied, and noticed a minor change in his own velocity, towards the positive numbers; satisfied with himself, the ex-marshal now focused more on his talon-movement, most significantly to avoid falling over from the sudden loss of balance.

The next minutes have consisted of him continuing all of the above described; focusing on his balance, and, for all the while, keeping a close eye on Lyran, who although sometimes disappeared behind a few turns and corners, was not hard to visually acquire again, due to the fact that, at this hour, no other owls seemed to be around; for another minute or two, Markson and the Barn owl kept running through forgettable corridors of this "Great Tree's" inside-structure, until, eventually, the ex-marshal has slowed his pace down to a fast-walk, as he has noticed that, at the exit of one of these passages, Lyran finally halted.

Moving next to the bird and turning a head towards him, Chris was about to ask for a situation-report, but decided not to, as he noticed his companion with his right talon raised to his beak, which the ex-marshal has automatically took as a signal of "silence" (as he was still associating some of these birds' movements with human gestures).

Seeing that Markson has understood him, Lyran pointed the same talon towards two unmoving heaps of feathers, which Barnes has only just noticed; and greater was the shock to him when he realised the meaning of the pool of blood that was surrounding the two bodies - they were, indubitably, _dead_.

_Just like that family back in Ambala_.

A grim expression has settled upon his face, but Chris kept himself calm and focused, and chased all frightening images and thoughts right out of his head; he did not wanted to be a problem to Lyran if a dangerous situation suddenly arose.

After all, he was an ex-TSA officer, and probably has seen worse; he just needed to force himself, and to handle this as the situation aboard that plane. He might not have had a weapon, but, even in the worst case, he still had his claws.

Even if he only has been an owl for a few days, improvisation could still be on his side - of course, only just with a few dozens of luck added into the mix.

The Barn owl began his slow approach towards the bodies of the late guards, turning his head, and thoroughly scanning for any hostile threat in all directions while in movement; although, so far, Markson had not managed to notice it, but this did not changed anything towards the fact that, seconds ago, Lyran has unsheathed a small-sized metal dagger that, the bird, apparently, was carrying around with himself for the past ten minutes - _without_ the ex-marshal's knowledge.

All of a sudden, it hit Chris that this, so far, more comical than serious Barn owl might have had a few surprises in store; if he turns out to be an expert with that dagger of his, Barnes has now sworn to himself that he will _actually_ attempt to clap with his own two wings.

Just as he was watching Lyran examine the two corpses, a muffled mix of a desperate, and yet, aggressive cry of death has escaped the not-so-inviting darkness of the nearby hollow that the two birds, who were now lying dead, clearly failed to protect. As soon as the audible sign of potential danger has reached his ear-slits, Markson gave no rational thought to his following actions - he barely even realised what he was doing.

In one moment, he remembered gazing towards Lyran, and, in the other, he had his eyes locked with this unknown and bloody-feathered owl, who was, with a mild shock and surprise in his eyes, standing over a disfigured shape of something that was resembling anything and everything, _save_ for a bird.

The mysterious owl's previous emotions turn into a form of bewilderment and epicaricacy; Chris could see that the intured was smiling - what is more, he even managed to _grin_ with his beak, somehow - albeit he was unable to see any reason for this.

All Barnes currently knew that, as soon as this bird approaches him, up to the distance of a single wingspan, he will personally claw his eyes and throat out, for what he has done to Bethany - the ex-marshal only living chance for finding out what was _truly_ going on here was now _dead_.

Just like that family of Spotted owls in the hollow; _just like poor and innocent Susan, back on the plane_.

Anger welled up inside him, the type he has never experienced before, in fact, _ever_ in his life; with a portion of his mind still thinking rationally, he came to the conclusion that this must be what an "animal instinct" felt like in action.

Nonetheless, this "instinct" has felt quite diluted, almost as if it was not actually taking over the logical decisions Barnes would have made, only influencing them, such as the suddenly acquired idea of killing this unknown owl as a bird of prey would have ended another one's life - by sharp, ruthless claws.

\- Well, well, I will be damned! - spoke the murderer with a hint of still present sadism mixed in his words; whatever torture he has completed on the defenceless Bethany, Chris was sure that this... _procedure's_ "enjoyments" were still present in the bird - Looks like the TSA is expanding their authority, and attempting to take over yet _another_ airspace? - he laughed at his own joke, but, with his previous sentence, revealed too much about himself.

Even if it was not too much, but Chris now knew that, somehow, yet another human has been caught in the "snares" of this world - the only major difference here was that this one was as hostile as one could have been.

No matter which direction the following conversation will head to, Barnes has already established in himself that this owl was not going to be his future best-friend.

\- Here is your girlfriend, mate! - with an unexpected level of power and strength, the owl lifted Bethany's body up in the air, held by her deformed skull, and threw the disturbingly still body towards the ex-marshal - Have fun with her! - he added as an attempt to taunt.

Albeit the fact that, in this body, Bethany could have been found once, it was all too clear that this was not the case anymore: in front of Markson, a corpse, maimed and distorted to the point where it was only barely a recognisable, deformed shape of its former self.

For some _sick_ and, probably, morbid reason, this murderer has went through the bloody-process of cutting out both eyes of the girl; Chris did not wanted to see more than this, as he was more than positive that, behind the curtain of red-soaked feathers, the bones of an owl's skull were already visible.

Essentially, the deceased body Bethany was deprived of her individual face by some _maniac_, who was clearly disturbed in his mind - or was paid well for such a murder.

Feeling as if all hope was instantly sucked out of him, Barnes felt a tear, collecting itself up in the corner of his right eye, then dropping to the wooden floor of the hollow, barely giving out any audible sound.

The levels of rage and pure anger that were amplifying themselves inside him were reaching a border-line where they would become extremely unpredictable, and dangerous - he did not honestly care though, as this would, at least, assist him in the permanent elimination of this _respectless_ _killer_ in this hollow.

\- Markson! - the addressed individual was about to violently lunge towards the seemingly satisfied owl, but he heard the shout from the hollow's entrance; glancing behind himself, he spotted Lyran in the bark's opening, dagger held strongly in his right talon - Stand back, and leave this to me! - spoke the Barn owl, sounding brave, but not necessarily strong enough to be up for the task; however, since he himself could definitely not have done better, Chris stood back, and allowed his companion to step into the dark of the hollow (however, the absence of light did not obstructed any of their visions inside, taking that, after all, they were owls).

\- I would run as far as I could in your place, call someone to help, maybe! - taunted the killer again, readying his own short-bladed weapon for a fight - This one here is not gonna live for long anyway, so you might as well get yourself some backup! - he changed his body posture into a more threatening position, unfolding and lifting his wings, some kind of leather-looking strap hanging off from his right flight organ, as Chris has noticed.

Lyran committed one of the worst mistakes one could ever make in a close-combat fight: he made the first move towards his enemy, leaving a clear option for a parry, or a block from the murderous owl.

Unfortunately, Markson's assumptions became the reality, and a rather grim one at that; Lyran lunged forward with his weapon, lifting into the air with a single flap from his wings before doing so, so that he would have the advantage of being off the ground.

As smart as this plan might have seemed originally, the outcome in reality was not as fortunate: before his blade could make contact with his body, the unknown owl grabbed the attacking bird's right foot, and drew it towards himself, all in the while making sure that the edged-weapon would not penetrate his flesh.

When Lyran was close enough, the killer lifted into the air himself, and comfortably stabbed his dagger into the former's left side, pulling the weapon out from the now bloodied feathers with fearsome speed; the vital fluid sprayed across the air, and, ultimately, came to a rest on the walls of the hollow.

Lyran gave out a scream that could only have been induced by a stab of agonising pain, and collapsed to the wooden floor of the hollow, desperately attempting to keep some pressure on his fresh and disconcertingly-bleeding wound with his right talon, a fearless fight to maintain his consciousness clearly visible on his face, which was filled with the signs of physical suffering.

Markson watched in horror as he twitched and twisted on the ground for a few seconds, but, shortly enough, placed all his focus back on the assassin.

_Upper-Tree Branches, Great Ga'Hoole Tree, Southern-Kingdoms_

_Close to 5:07 a.m._

_Kenneth Zwegger_

With that idiotically-brave Barn owl now bleeding out and wounded on the floor of the hollow, Zwegger holstered his dagger - for now, his job was successfully accomplished. His target has been terminated, and the option of a quick get-away was still available to him.

Albeit this _moron_ from the TSA might give an attempt towards stopping him, Zwegger could not have been less bothered - he could not really think of any potential dangers in fighting this one as well.

From a fundamental perspective, this "ex-marshal" could have been regarded as anything but a risky threat; after all, he was only the living part of this world for an approximate number of three, maybe four days, at the most; he was, as observed by Fayer's _always_ accurate and reliable sources, still unable of any form of flight, and was seen to be rather uncoordinated in his new body.

Therefore, Zwegger himself would not have expected a sudden appearance of expert talon-to-talon contact from this "Markson".

He would have been an easy game to hunt down if needed, but Fayer made it extremely clear that, whatever the costs or circumstances, he wanted, as he put it, "the TSA-agent alive"; now, Zwegger's boss was not an individual who should have been disappointed.

If the old man had plans with him, Kenneth was not going to stand in his way by questioning his superior-orders.

Even if he would have, out of the momentarily not-so-clear blue decided to go up against Malcolm's intentions, he understood that his own reward for killing the ex-agent off would have been certain and instant _death_ \- the PSRI wanted this operation to stay under a strict commander, and Fayer would not have been the one to turn a blind eye towards such a direct and offensive violation of his direct orders.

Markson will live today, but not because of Zwegger's grace and goodwill - this was not his style of accomplishing an assassination, but his talons were tied on this matter.

He completed his _original_ and primary objective, and it was now the time for a swift exfiltration - the TSA grunt blocking his exit should not be a difficult bridge to cross on his way out.

Zwegger decided that his best chance was to trick the ex-marshal into _any_ form of movement, preferably into a state of temporal panic and confusion; he planned to cause this by making a hostile movement towards Markson, but not actually wounding him in the process.

This would have been only to place him off his currently solid balance, so that, while making a run for the exit of this hollow, Kenneth could, without almost no extra effort, push him over - _without_ his claws extended, of course (he learned this through the hard way, during his training-days at the base-camp. For the record, it may be pressed that it was not only him, who suffered light-to-medium wounds that day).

What is more, temporarily immobilising the ex-marshal would prove to be a great advantage towards Zwegger's escape; even in the case in which Markson would have came up with the insane and somewhat-suicidal idea of attempting to chase Kenneth down... the ex-agent would still have been incapable of on-foot movement for _at least_ five seconds, giving the successful assassin a comfortable time-window for his escape.

Zwegger considered the "moment of action" to be here and now; he already was over the phases of planning, and was now about to execute his thought-out actions.

Kenneth lunged towards Markson, who, as predicted, attempted to move away from the danger-zone in a laughably wretched style; if he would have been ordered to kill the ex-marshal, the latter would have had no chance of survival.

Deliberately crashing into Markson's feathered body with an, evidently, overwhelming force, using his left wing's shoulder-like bone, Zwegger did not even bothered to check behind; not after the physical impact, and not after he passed the now cold and obviously-dead corpses of the two guards - however, he almost slipped in the pool of blood that was left behind from his little... talon-work.

He headed towards the same direction from which he has arrived from about twenty-five minutes ago, pushing all and every other bypasser out of his way in the narrow tunnels of wood; he needed not to be discreet anymore, and he considered it to be pretty much impossible for a verbal-alarm to go around the _whole_ tree in less than three minutes - as this was the amount of time that he, personally, needed to pull of his caper just fine, and be back at the base-camp by the first rays of the rising sun.

He arrived to a point in his escape-route where he would, by the "rules", had to turn to the right, head down an enclosed corridor of wood and bark, in which he would have spiralled down onto a platform, which was set in a lower-position, roughly about a meter drop.

If _knowing_ that he was chased, he would have took this shortcut, but, knowing that this idiot from the TSA had absolutely no rational or positive odds of catching up with him, Zwegger decided to just take the scenic-route.

It would only take him meaningless length of eight, maybe, in the worst case, ten seconds - at this stage of his escape, nothing could possibly have gone wrong.

The Guardians were not yet alerted (and would not be for another two minutes or so, maybe even more if that Barn owl bleeds out before he could call for help), and Markson was not a hazardous detail to worry about anymore.

_A clear run back down to the presently abandoned training-grounds, and he will be off of this island in no time!_

_Upper-Tree Branches, Great Ga'Hoole Tree, Southern-Kingdoms_

_Close to 5:10 a.m._

_Christopher Barnes Markson, ex-TSA_

From what he has _just_ accomplished in front of his eyes - murdering without a trace of emotional-twitch or difficulty on his face, and an apparent competence in the field of "avian close-combat" - Chris would have expected this assassin to be a lot more mindful of his surroundings; first, Barnes was thinking that it will only take him two seconds to be busted by the killer, and maybe even stabbed himself, but, to his largest surprise - from all the others today, the bird did not even made sure of Markson losing his balance, and, conclusively, falling over!

In reality, the ex-marshal has succeeded, although barely, in remaining on his two talons, and, immediately after his brain has managed to process the events of the past minutes, Chris began to chase after the only connection that was left to Bethany - her murderer.

And now, here he was, standing on the edge of a one meter drop, reconsidering if doing such a movement would be a sane idea; sure, one _single_ meter did not _sounded_ that high, but, in this body, Barnes had to take into account that he would fall in a downwards direction, and the _length_ of that fall would be the double own his own height, as an owl.

Then, it came to his mind, and he almost began to scold himself for not thinking of this sooner; even though he was unable (and unwilling) to fly, he still had wings. Now, if he would unfold and extend his wings while falling, and, maybe, flap them as well...

Barnes was honestly thinking that he would have been better off not even _thinking_ about such a plan of taking a shortcut, but, swiftly recognising that he was being - needlessly, may we stress - indecisive over such an obvious decision, he cleared his mind of all thoughts and doubts, and jumped for it.

The whole descent took only two seconds of his lifetime - maybe not even that much; at a point, Markson was having the mixed feelings of both perfect inner peace and nausea, and, if interviewed about his experience in that precise moment, he, without a doubt, would have described it as... rather enjoyable.

His wings extended and gracefully flapping have felt natural and, simply, _right_, as if this was the only reason of his existence; definitely, Chris was unsure of why these feelings have occurred to him, but he found them to be too delightful to be ignored, or chased away from his head.

Instead, he took the advantage of this unique opportunity, and kept his mind focused on being mid-air - even the possibility of _flying_ has crossed his brain for a second, like a stray electric impulse between his neurons.

However, the combination of the above mentioned emotions has came to an abrupt end as soon as his feet have came in contact with the ground - rather painfully and that; losing his balance this time, Barnes fell over, but managed to quickly stagger to an upright position for once again.

He glanced around with the speed of desperation; the assassin was nowhere to be seen - yet.

And this was _excellent_; if he wanted to take that drop on this maniac, he would better hope that there was a location that would benefit towards his ambush-plan.

If there would only have been a tight corner, some place where Chris could have jumped out from in the right moment...

He presupposed that the main section of this gigantic tree's bole, which was just a few steps away from him, would conceal him from the naked eye, _and_ give him a position which would be _just right_ for an ambush; it would also provide him with a solid foothold as well, as this, more compact-sized area of the tree has seemed to be a smaller version of the previously already-encountered "Grand Terrace".

By a child's logic, this should have been the perfect spot for a surprise-attack, as, hiding behind the desired corner, Markson would have been unable to see the exit of the tunnel - the one which the killer has entered only a few seconds ago - but then, neither could the assassin have spotted him while hiding.

There was no time to reconsider his other potential options (and, to be truthful here, there was no different alternative choice to be taken); Barnes ran for the already-chosen spot, and, we could say, _leaped_ behind its cover, pressing his back to against the rough bark, his eyes facing towards the direction in which Bethany's killer _will_ be headed, once he would leave the wooden passageway.

From this point on, he will be required to rely on his ears, which, in this exceptional situation, might prove to be rather helpful; after all, owls naturally had their ear-slits designed for an excellent skill-level of hearing.

Relying on his suddenly surging instinctive impulses once again, the ex-marshal cocked and bent his head slightly to the right, somehow recognising that, as a matter of fact, his hearing grew more sensitive, and more perceptive.

Five seconds passed, and Markson was beginning to have that dreadful feeling around his stomach-area again; he could not hear anything that might have resembled footsteps - even those of an owls. Did the assassin see him, and decided to run or fly off in the opposite direction? Was he going on a different path in the first place? Or maybe...

_That_ was the moment when the sound waves have hit Chris' sensitive ear-slits, and gave his brain a rough estimation of how far the bird was from his ambush-spot - not a kilometre, at least, this much he knew.

He patiently stayed dead-still, and waited until the talon-steps grew louder in his ear-slits, already tensing a few muscles, ready to strike _precisely_ in the moment when the killer would run past his position...

"Now", he thought, and pivoted around the edge of his hiding-place, left wing extended and held with intense strength, hitting the owl _exactly_ at the point of his body where Barnes wanted to make contact with him; summing up those seconds, Markson has, essentially, used his flight organ as if, again, it would have been a human arm.

His plan for the whole time was to swing his wing into the bird's throat, temporarily hindering his ability of respiration, and, in the meantime, knocking him off from his talons, onto the wooden platform, where he would be way more simpler to disarm and keep immobile - with his current skills of this "talon-to-talon" combat, Chris was not daring to risk anything else while the murderer was armed and standing.

With his successfully delivered "wing-swing" in the owl's throat, the ex-marshal now had the upper hand - or talon.

Without wasting a single precious moment, Markson began to scan around the vicinity of the bird's body, as he was incontrovertibly positive that his ear-slits have caught the sound of a metal hitting against the platform's surface; his haste could have been taken as a reason of panic and mild fear - if the bird would reclaim his metal dagger _before_ Barnes, well... his whole, well-executed maneuver would have counted towards nothing.

After a second, the glint of the slowly disappearing stars brought his attention to the dark, yet quite reflective blade of the weapon; not a moment later than they should have, as he was not the only one reaching for the deadly-instrument now.

Until he was glancing around for the above mentioned object, the assassin managed to regain most of his breath, and was already beginning to function as if nothing has ever happened to his throat; he was already starting to grope around with his own talons, searching for his lost weapon

Luckily enough, Markson's dexterity came victorious in that miniature form of a skirmish, and, in no time, Chris had his left foot, gripping tightly, but not too strongly, on the owl's neck, and his right talon, holding the dark-bladed dagger somewhat shakingly, yet solidly to his suspect's neck.

\- You move as such as a twitch, and I am going to open your throat up! - hissed Barnes with his beak, his ocean-blue eyes emitting a deadly glow on the grounded bird - Now, you are going to answer my questions! - he raised his voice's volume back to a pleasant conversation's level, albeit it was clear that his planned, on-the-field interrogation was not going to be anywhere near a casual and friendly chat.

Although he failed to notice the first two, maybe three orders and shouts, soon, it became clear to him that his _not_ requested „backup" has arrived; at least six fully armed owls, all of them having a similar, beret-like headwear, much like the ones that the guards back at the late Bethany's hollow have worn - these, presumably, were some form of uniform, creating an easily noticeable line of division between those who have called themselves „Guardians", and those who would have been, in a specific, _ordinary_ world, classified as „civilians".

However, as mentioned previously, he was to occupied with the difficulty of holding himself back from stabbing that dagger through this owl's skull, and brain - he was only holding himself back for two reasons.

Firstly, he had a great number of questions that he was not going to leave unasked, and, secondly, this... pitiful excuse of a living individual has deserved something _much_ worse and longer than a quick stab in the crania.

\- Owl, I need you to back off from the suspect, and to drop your weapon! - he heard the voice of a female (obviously owl), advising him to act as if _he_ would have been the hostile enemy here - I will need you to comply, otherwise, we will have to drag you off him! - the shout was heard again, Barnes picturing in front of himself the prissy and officious face of this owl; she might have been doing her job right now, but this assassin here has turned into a personal matter of _vengeance_.

\- Suspect? - responded Markson, but kept the blade strictly and firmly at the murderer's feathered neck - He is a confirmed perpetrator, for God's sake, and you want _me_ to get off him! - the ex-marshal raised his voice, hoping that the demonstration of this kind of confidence would earn him his truth.

Unsuccessfully the latter has went, and, instead of word of sympathy or understanding, another notice of an order was stated by the female.

\- We will be the ones to decide that, owl, not you! - she was truly starting to get on Chris' nerves now - Now, get off of him, otherwise... - at this point, Markson has lost his patience, and his self control in the conversation has snapped.

\- If you are not going to help, just shut up and let me do my work! - he yelled back at the female, himself unsure of why he described his planned interrogation as his work; not that he was not trained for such circumstances, but... stating that this was his „work" was just... odd, even to him.

Nevertheless, he refocused his thoughts on the restrained killer, and began to ask his questions.

\- Firstly, you bastard! - he screamed into the bird's face, barely managing to hold him back from spitting on him (however, he was not fully certain that birds were even able to do that) - Who the hell are you, and what interest did you have in killing an innocent _girl_? - if he would have been able to show the white of his teeth, he would have; however, for obvious reasons, this was impossible to do.

No answer came, and Chris took this as a request of physical harm from the bird; if he was not going to speak, then Barnes will be required to use methods that were not a set of examples to be followed.

Nonetheless, before he could have done anything, the owl began to laugh in a hysterical-voice, as if he had suddenly began to find his current position overly entertaining; or, alternatively, something has snapped in him.

Markson would have voted for the latter.

\- Which one do you want first? My badge number from the FBI, or my service number from the SEALs? - he broke off into another maniacal stream of laughter again, convincing Barnes that, maybe, this bird might have had a few problems in his head.

\- You are not a prisoner of war; I have asked for your name! - spoke the ex-marshal, suspecting that, with derailing the conversation, the assassin was aiming to waste Chris' time, so that he would be taken off him _before_ he could have acquired a single useful answer.

\- Special Agent Kenneth Zwegger, at your service - smirked the owl, laying out both of his wings as a sign of surrender, easing the difficulty of the ex-marshal's task of holding him down - But that is all you will get from me, I assure you! - he lifted his head up a bit, lowering his voice, so that only Barnes could hear him - Get out of _our_ business as soon as you can, marshal, or we will hunt you down before you could blink an eye! - he threw a threat at Markson, who allowed it to go right past his ear-slits.

\- Who is „we"? - questioned Chris with a demand - Tell me something that makes sense and is useful, otherwise I am going to... - here, he was, unexpectedly and startlingly, cut off by the murderer.

\- ...What, kill me? - he grinned right into the ex-marshal's face, the muscles and tendons of his talons beginning to tense, however, the latter has went unnoticed by Markson - That is where you would make no real difference in the outcome of the events! - a short space of silence followed; Barnes was hesitant with the choice of actually responding to bird's previous words, and the assassin continued to grin with a slight trace of madness on his face.

\- What are you talking about? - Chris followed the murderer's style of speech, and lowered his voice before he stated this question; he has already let his guard down too much, and, unfortunately, the assassin has managed to sketch out a plan in his head, all revolving around the matter of breaking free from the ex-marshal's hold.

\- You see, I have told you my name - began the owl, and rather cryptically, while we are at it - And, if you know who I am... - at this point, the killer, with an unusual amount of force, headbutted Markson in his face, who responded to this with a distressed cry; while his captor was still in the state of being-caught-by-surprise, the murderer gripped Markson's talon, the one that was holding the dagger, and pressed it against his _own_ neck - If you know who I am... - he restarted his previous, unfinished sentence - ...I am already dead! - and, with these words being his last, Zwegger drove the blade into his own throat, giving out the sound of a bloody gurgle before succumbing to a violent set of fits.

As an act of pure panic, Markson grabbed the dagger's handle, and yanked it out from the bird's windpipe, revealing a deep gash, from which blood was pouring out, re-painting the wooden platform on which they were standing and lying on with a dark shade of red. Taking a short glance of irritation at the dagger, Chris tossed it to the side, now regretting of not throwing it away in the first place.

However, his above actions were to no avail, as, seconds later, the assassin has lost consciousness - probably induced by the pain - and, not so long after, died under Markson's talons as the final bits of his life-power seeped away, like the last rays of the setting sun.

Soon enough, Markson could feel the appearance of a sudden and unexpected distance between himself and the now deceased Zwegger's corpse; only a moment later he was able to realise that two other owls were in the physically non-demanding process of restraining him, and, to his dismay, however hard he struggled against this iron-hold, Chris was unable to free himself.

„Well, at least," he thought, „there is no sedation this time!"; his memories about that needle being stabbed into him, back at the infirmary, were still rather fresh - the still-sensitive-injection-wound type of fresh.

\- Do not let him move! - shouted a familiar, male voice, albeit, momentarily, the ex-marshal could not recall its owner's name, or identity - He twitches, you sedate him, and I do not care what with, got it? - Barnes ceased his movements, although, for two main reasons, from which both were quite pressing, in his opinion.

First and foremost, Markson did not wished his skin to be penetrated by another needle, for another time, and, for second and last, he suddenly managed to recall the familiar voice's ipseity, and its owner's name - in case one would have been wondering, the ex-marshal was not about to be greeted by great and relieving news.

-Well, well, who do we have here? - the unpreferable character of Byran walk in front of the capture Barnes' visual-cone. A satisfied gaze kindling in his eyes, epicaricacy shown by his facial gesture; he obviously was enjoying his current position and status of power, staring at Chris with a mix of what could have been considered both utter despise, and a victorious smirk - Not even Valery can get you out of this one, can she now? - he leaned in closer to speak the former, a warm stench of some dead rodent hitting Markson's nostrils while the bird was talking; he believed this to be the „after-smell" of the owl's breakfast, which the ex-marshal has sincerely hoped to have been totally awful and abysmal. _He truly wished that_.

Needless to say, but this situation might have been the worst so far that Chris has managed to get himself involved in; after all, stressing and pulling Byran's nerves to the point where he has sent for Valery was a task that required Barnes to truly irritate him.

It would have been indubitably true that the acquaintanceship of the ex-marshal and Byran did not quite start off on the right foot, and the bird was not going to give him any favors now - he had no reason to, and this was all perfectly fine.

After all, this could only have been a mistake: Markson was innocent, and even this owl could not have done _anything_ against direct orders - unless, of course, he was the current individual in command.

_That would have ruined Chris' day even more_.

\- What do you think you are doing, Byran? - this was the first logical and polite-sounding question that came to Barnes' mind, _and_ the only, single one so far as well; without any optional alternative, he decided to stick with it, for the moment.

To an extent, he really had not a single idea or theory of why he was so suddenly placed into a position of a captive; however, by rethinking the course of the events that have just occurred, seconds ago, in fact... he was beginning to see the outlines of the „big picture"; these owls - or, if he had wished to be formal, _Guardians_ \- were thinking that he deliberately stabbed Zwegger in his throat, murdering him in the process.

It was no secret to the ex-marshal that the late assassin has committed suicide to avoid imprisonment or questioning - they were all standing around them when it happened, they _surely_ must have spotted that it was Zwegger who pulled that dagger into his own windpipe!

But did they know, or see? That was the main question here; if not, well... another, hopefully, short-length of „Guardian-custody" was waiting for Chris.

\- What do _I_ think I am doing? - spoke Byran with an either honest and genuine, or well-acted astonishment on his face; that hostile, dislikeable, smirking face of his - Detaining you for killing a suspect who was, next to the fact of being _unarmed_, was already kept in an inescapable position by being _surrounded_! - for this sentence, he raised his volume to a considerably higher level, so that it almost turned into a shout.

While doing so, he gestured with his right wing around themselves: a circle of owls, all wearing a similar beret-style headwear, enclosed the dead body of Zwegger, the restrained Markson, and the imperious Byran, all appearing to be standing ready for any further orders.

\- In your place, Markson, if that _really_ is your name, I would be questioning my own sanity! You have just killed our only lead in a murder-investigation... - at this point, Chris had enough, and interrupted the owl mid-sentence, who, although shut his beak, gave the ex-marshal a withering look; the latter has simply ignored it.

\- In _your_ place, I would be questioning my own sight! - he has also raised his voice, which has seemed to be somewhat of a threatening action towards Byran, who, although attempted to conceal this momentary weakness, has failed to do, for the most part; Barnes could still see that faint light of self-doubt in the bird's eyes.

He was not _exactly_ afraid, or intimidated by the ex-marshal, but there was... something there that Chris could not quite take a grasp of - it was as if the owl was nervous about a secret, one that he did not quite wished to be found out.

Barnes did not prefered him as an individual owl; so far, he has done nothing of assistance or benefit towards Markson - it was as if he was only here to interfere with the ex-marshal.

\- What do you think might be wrong with my sight? - inquired Byran with weakly-concealed form of sarcasm.

\- That _suspect_ has took control of that dagger, and cut his own throat! - hissed Barnes at the owl, who gave him a look as if the latest speaker would have been a mental patient.

\- And what _idiot_ would do that, if I may ask? - even now, the cynical-tone was distinctly present in his voice's tone; it was now beginning to irritate Chris.

But, of course, most would have been _quite_ provoked in a similar situation, such as this; after all, no one enjoyed being restrained and accused as a murderer.

\- One who would wish to avoid questioning, or interrogation - replied the ex-marshal in a more casual tone, then carried on, as Byran did not quite appeared to be convinced - Listen, can you just place your _damn_ personal resentments and prejudices aside for a moment, and think about this _rationally_? - for this, previous sentence, the bird has seemed to have turned more lenient, _finally_; he gazed off into the distance, looking like he was, for the first occasion in his life, reconsidering more logical and realistic theories of what might have just happened, _right before_ Zwegger buried that dagger deep in his throat - maybe, Byran was finally convinced by reason.

Nevertheless, Markson had to give up his hopes almost as soon as he has established them, as the owl has simply turned his eyes back towards him, and spoke in a dismissive fashion.

\- You might have killed him, you might have not; it is not my decision to make - the smirk has re-appeared on his face, smashing the last pieces of confidence Chris' mind was still bearing into a million little shards of disappointment and defeat.

\- Take him to his previous cell! - signaled Byran to the two owls, who were still holding the ex-marshal tightly, so that he could not move an inch, even if he would have wished to - The High-Council can handle his hearing later! - he finished with a nod, to which the two captors of Barnes responded to by starting to drag him away, holding onto his wings with their wings, beginning to slowly escort him away from the scene.

\- Wait, stop! - with an unanticipated and sudden surge of physical strength, Markson made an impetuous jerk towards the right, and, with this, surprisingly enough, freed himself from his captors; one of the owls took a dagger out from some kind of holster that was attached to his left foot, and raised it in a protective, and an even somewhat defensive style. Disinterested about the latter movement, Barnes gave his opinion with the usage of a few words - Put that away! What am I going to do, take every single one of you out by myself? - the owl with the unsheathed weapon, proving that he was not as incompetent as Byran, lowered his weapon, but still maintained an almost non-existent distance between (presumably) himself, and the ex-marshal, for the unlikely case of Chris actually attempting to do something physically endangering.

\- What do you two think you are doing! - shouted Byran at the two birds, who had Markson restrained only a short collection of seconds ago, causing them to turn their heads around, panick and confusion sitting on their face; for some reason, the minor fury and constant anger of the Horned owl has ascended and amplified into an almost full-fledged state of conniption - Why did not you sedate him, like I ordered you so? You two _will_ follow your orders, or, and I swear this on Glaux, I will make sure that you end up on the worst end of the Shadow Forest, _and_ on patrol-duty! - if Byran's eyes could have killed, the two owls would have definitely been dead by now; whatever their „officer" has just threatened them with, it must have been something exceptionally terrifying, and the two birds were now hurrying their quick steps towards the ex-marshal, assumably planning to put a needle in him again.

Markson was about to give a verbal form of protest against his, apparently, inevitable-imprisonment, however, before he could have done so - _and_ before he was restrained for another time - another familiar voice, this one stirring up more pleasant memories in Chris' brain, thundered across the intense air of the crack of the dawn, silencing everything, even the fairly private whispers of conversations.

\- Lance-Corporal Byran, would care to explain of what is happening here? - Barnes turned his head around, and spotted a Barn owl, approximately six steps away from him, slowly closing in towards the ex-marshal, and the Horned owl.

Although it _did_ take a bit of a dig around his own memories for Markson to recall the name, and, once again, the identity of this bird; he remembered _him_ to be unequivocally more favorable and aiding than Byran ever was in the past day, that was a fact he could work with.

By this point in time, the Barn owl has reached them with his slow pace of walk, nodding to Chris as he passed next to him; the ex-marshal responded with a similar gesture, and, there and then, his brain had it - both the individual's name, and his identity.

\- Lieutenant Latimer, sir - saluted Byran with his right wing, raising it to the top of his head; seeing his current behaviour as a subordinate near a higher-ranking officer was almost lamentably pathetic. If he would not have acted like a sworn enemy of Markson in the past few minutes, he might actually have felt sorry and forgiven him; but, knowing that, pretty much, the exact _opposite_ has happened, Barnes could not feel anything, but _schadenfreude_, towards the Horned owl.

\- At ease, Lance-Corporal - spoke Latimer, more calmly than seconds before; although it was clearly noticeable that the Barn owl was following the proper hierarchy of military ranks (at least, in the „normal" world, they would be mostly used by armed forces), howbeit, Chris, personally, believed that the Lieutenant, deep inside, did not even _planned_ on showing any true respect towards the Horned owl - Now, would you mind to give an _explanation_ of why you would wish to arrest Markson? - asked Latimer, gesturing towards the ex-marshal with his left wing.

\- Because... he has murdered our only suspect _and_ lead in an on-going investigation, sir - however well he was attempting to hide it now, it was clear that Byran was at a loss of words, and was just searching around for excuses, so that he could get away with his almost-successful revenge on Chris; Latimer has not responded, therefore, the Horned owl continued on - Sir, I wish to add that I have followed _proper_ procedure, unlike others in the past days... - he left a short pause for his insult towards a _specific_ female owl to sink in, then finished his sentence - And I truly believe that, after what he has done, Silverbeak must be prosecuted - concluded the bird, shooting a quick, threatening glance towards the ex-marshal.

\- Lance-Corporal... you might want to take Markson's advice, and arrange a medical check-up with the healers, regarding the dysfunctionality of your eyes - Byran was about to respond back to this, but Latimer has silenced him with his left talon lifted up and opened, signalling "stop" towards the bird - I was one of the first owls on the scene, observing the events from a safe, but still rather close distance, and I can tell you _this_ \- his voice now changed tone from a casual talker's to a stone-cold general's, even discouraging Barnes from even thinking about cutting off the Barn owl by speaking - That assassin has stabbed _himself_ in his own throat, for the potential reasons of what our friend here has already specified: to take his answers and pieces of information to his grave - at this stage, the Lieutenant has walked closer up to Byran, to such an almost non-existent distance where their beaks have almost touched - I hope that your mistake in this... _executive decision_ you have attempted can be categorised as an... error that was induced by misinterpretation; _but_, if it turns out that your... _emotions_ towards Markson were the primary reasons that have pushed you to take such an action... - Latimer has now lowered his voice to an almost inaudible volume - ...Then I am afraid that _you_ might be the one, who would require relocation to the Shadow Forest! - for a seemingly long period of three seconds, the two owls have maintained a silent eye-contact - You are dismissed, Lance-Corporal - said Latimer ultimately, turning away from the dumbfounded and (deep down, possibly) infuriated Byran, then spoke to the massive crowd of owls that has gathered around this grim scene - I need _everyone_ who is not a senior member of the GHID to leave, and carry on with their daily-activities; I am confident that every single one of you have more appealing matters to attend to than a crime-scene! - his voice returned to that typical, knows-his-duty type of tone; Barnes could not help, but watch with a minor astonishment as, literally, _everyone_ but a few, assumably GHID-owls, left this bloody scene.

In the distance, Markson could see Byran, mid-air, flying off into the young dawn of the sky, appearing to leave the island for some, probably personal, reason.

Nonetheless, other than the ex-marshal, no one has paid attention, or did not noticed this.

Seeing that everyone has abandoned this area of the tree, Latimer indicated to Chris to position himself in a conversation-distance from the Lieutenant.

When Barnes managed to carry this straightforward order out, the Barn owl nodded towards Zwegger's motionless and cold body, commencing a dialogue as the two have began to slowly walk towards the aforementioned corpse.

\- Good job with dispatching our _dead_ suspect here; too bad he was so keen on keeping his little secrets to himself - he turned his dark eyes toward the corpse of the late assassin, and began to observe it with honest curiosity - What did he say his name was? It sounded way too unusual to me, and I suspect that he is definitely not from the Southern-Kingdoms - his gaze has wandered onto Chris' face.

\- No, as he was not from _this_, present world - Markson raised his head, and stared deeply into Latimer's eyes - He was from _mine_ \- he sighed, then casted his gaze down, looking into the glassy and lightless eyes of the late assassin.

\- Are you certain about this? - questioned the Lieutenant, a minimal trace of doubt detectable in his discernible in his voice.

\- More than about anything other I have encountered, during the short timespan that I have spent in this world - the ex-marshal shook his head, slowly, as if he was mourning the dead killer - Kenneth Zwegger; now, even if the name would not have gave it away, he has identified... _organisations_ that only an individual from _my_ world could have ever heard about. However, I am still left dumbfounded by one, singular missing piece of this puzzle - he kept a short period of silence as he waited for the Barn owl to glance up at him - Also, I have no doubt that this is the question that is _your_ main interest as well: _why_ has he done all this? - here, Barnes turned his head towards the sea, which was visible from this section of the tree, gazing down into its vast and eternal being, feeling his mind becoming somewhat more peaceful, the longer he kept watching those harmonious waves, calmly drifting along, as if they have had nothing better to do.

\- What caught me by surprise was that he referred to some _others_ as well; I mean, he mentioned that "_they_" will hunt you down - began Latimer, moving next to Markson, cautiously evading the pool of blood that has manifested itself around the corpse.

\- Hold on for a second! - Barnes returned to the usage of words, turning to the Lieutenant - How could you have _possibly_ hear that? - he asked with curiosity, his question sounding more like pure amazement.

\- Well, without sounding like a type of snob... - chuckled Latimer delightfully - I am a Barn owl, and my species' hearing is, well... to put it fairly, our hearing is extraordinary, compared to other owls' ears; for me to detect those words of this... "Zwegger" was no complication - he concluded, smiling.

\- I see - replied Chris shortly with a rather simplistic answer, then decided to focus back on the current matters, which were mostly about Zwegger - We will require additional information to establish even just a theory of why he did what he did - he aimed to sound thoughtful and demure, however, deep down, his brain was racing with the pessimistic and negative thoughts that they will _never_ find out why this assassin decided to kill Bethany; for some reason, the fear of this has put him on the edge.

With his latter sentence though, Barnes has successfully achieved to be regarded as if he was a professional in this (and, to be honest, he somewhat was), and almost felt like as if he was "back in commission"; working with a form of investigation-agency again.

\- I would not usually give out favours, just like this, and, sincerely considering it, this is not _really_ a favour, but... - hesitated Latimer, sighing deeply before continuing - ...There has not been a murder at this tree, _island even_, for, at least, seventy years or so; I can safely assure you that what has occurred here... it _will_ most absolutely attract attention, _and_ from all over the kingdoms, maybe even from the North... - he aimed his gaze into Markson's eyes - They will definitely initiate a deeper and thorough investigation, and will attempt to figure out of who this "Zwegger" was, and what reason or motive he had for such an, as I was told, _brutal_ murder - the Lieutenant scratched his head with a talon, reaching all the way up to his head, showing a surprising amount of flexibility; after appearing to think for a while, he reached for the leather belt that was tied around his waist, unsheathing a small-sized, but still rather vicious-looking dagger; he threw it up in the air, but only for just a few centimetres, and caught it by the blade.

He took a lengthened glance at the grip, then held it out towards the ex-marshal, who, to this, simply shook his head and gave out an unsure, and extended _uh_ sound, showing a simply understandable protest against the Barn owl's offer.

\- Most of the GHID and the Guardians would probably _lynch_ me for this, but, if there are other assassins to go after the kind of you and Bethany... - he stretched his right foot out as much as he could, attempting to shove the weapon even closer to Barnes - Look, in the past three hours, three innocents have been killed: two GHID-members with their families now mourning, and a victim who was under _our_ protection. I will be _damned_ to the bottom of _Hagsmire_ if I let another bird, who is connected to this case, die! Now, take the dagger already! - Markson submitted to the Lieutenants demands, and attempted to take a grasp on the leather-wrapped grip - Actually! Do not take it now! - he suddenly pulled the weapon back; Chris just gave him an impatient look - It will be easier for everyone if you do not carry it around just yet; I will try to get my talons on a spare belt and holster from the quartermaster, and drop everything off in your hollow, once we have selected one for you. It will be private, and you should be able to store it somewhere safe in there; and hopefully... not trip over it and cut yourself with it - he smiled, apparently delighted by his own humour; noticing that it was not quite the same with Chris, the Barn owl coughed once, then returned to a previous topic - Anyway, do not worry! I can assure you of this here and now; _if_ there are any more owls like this assassin was, they are not going to slip away from our sight _this_ easily! - the bird has cleared his throat, stared at the wooden platform he was standing on for a second or two, then spoke again - I guess what I am trying to say is that I will attempt undertake the effort to provide you with as much information as I can about any advancements in this very case, so you will be able to keep track of all the events that will be ongoing. Also, who knows? - he questioned, and Barnes was about to instinctively ask back, only then realising that Latimer's inquiry was purely rhetorical - I will put in a good word for you at the GHID's Colonel; maybe he will give me authorisation to involve you in a few other investigations as well... - at this moment, the Lieutenant was abruptly cut off by the ex-marshal, who has, visually, seemed to have been taken off-guard by the previous statement of the Barn owl.

\- Wait, wait! - spoke Barnes as if he did not have truly believed the bird; well, to some extent, his mind was considering that this might have been a very witty form of humour - Really? Just like this? Taking _me_ into investigations? Okay, listen, one single question: why me? - wished to know the ex-marshal with genuine incredulousness - What _possible_ value do I hold toward _any_ kind of investigation that is conducted by your, and please do not take offense, _kind_? - to his long list of questions, the Barn owl's response was quick, yet organised.

\- To be honest with you... - he sighed - It actually was Valery to bring this idea up for the first time; I, and of course, many others, have instantly stood against it the moment we have heard it, but... I do not know - Latimer shook his head - I guess everyone deserves a second chance, and, after I what I saw, I truly believe that you have earned yourself another one, for now - he concluded, took a breath, then decided to carry on with an unknown topic - I think it may be time to... - as mentioned literally a few words beforehand, the Lieutenant started to speak about something, but never finished, due to a third, unexpected individual arriving in their vicinity.

The small-sized owl about whom the ex-marshal was assured to have seen already, lighted down approximately two feet away from Barnes and Latimer.

Consequently after taking a swift glance around the this specific area of the tree, the little bird headed right for the Barn owl, starting to unbuckle some kind of wooden-tube with his beak while being in constant movement; as he arrived, the latter item has turned out to be some kind of container, seemingly meant for the carriage of parchments, and other paper-based documents.

It had an odd and old-fashioned, but clearly hand- (or, in this case, talon-) carved design on its outer-body, and, in its top strap, which, when fastened, probably has kept all the parchments intact, there was an additional decoration of multiple feathers - at the first glance, mostly a magpie's, and a crow's.

Only now did Markson arrive to the realisation that _everything_ these owls had and made, be that the GHID's uniform-like berets, capes, or mantles that Barnes has spotted a few birds wearing, back at the grand-terrace, the shapes of their daggers, or any other, miscellaneous garments or clothing-like belongings or items, reflected the flourishing-era of the Renaissance, with their visual-style.

Interestingly enough, these, may we call them, in lack of a better expression, "clothes", have appeared to not be some, just haphazardly placed-together rags, but, instead, seemed to be expertly and professionally woven and sewn, maybe even stitched - how this process has been accomplished, though, Barnes could not possibly have imagined, even if he would have attempted it with the ultimate of his fantasy-imagery; his mind's eye, so to speak.

If this place was _indeed_ some type of an alternate-universe (which Chris still found to be rather unlikely and improbable, but, having no alternative theory to hold into, this was the only half-sane idea he could _somewhat_ associate his minimal knowledge of _pseudoscience_ with), it truly was an astonishing one; hundreds and hundreds of years of an active, living, and intellectually evolving community and race of owls...

Markson found himself wondering of the physical boundaries of this world. Was this, essentially, still "Earth", just, simply, left untouched by the hands of humanity? If so, how did it occur exactly? Did mankind failed to advance to a sufficient level, and got eliminated from the survival of the fittest?

He could have gave as much thought as he had wanted to towards his own questions, however, the book he has read, back in the library, could have mercilessly dismissed his theory from is very roots of foundation; that old, dust-covered volume has _precisely_ stated that once, an unthinkably long time ago, humans _did_ roam this Earth, but then, out of the clear, blue sky (the latter sounding quite literal in Chris' head, especially as he has thought of the Cold War of the nineteen-seventies), disappeared without a trace - currently assumed to be extinct.

Was this truly the fate humanity has received in this place? Not even Markson could have been counted as the last and only living representative of mankind, taking that he was, if observed by his physiology and physical form, was not a human anymore; did that make this... "parallel-something" the road that was never travelled by the "normal" world?

An alternate universe, where humanity has failed to not annihilate itself?

Then there was Bethany - this now only pronounceable in past-tense: what was her role in all this, along with the CIA, and this... PSRI-agency, or whoever they where?

Barnes has understood that the CIA has launched some type of a reconnaissance-mission on this PSRI-company, as told by the late "Miss Losold", and the latter's idea of how _she_ crossed over has made, at least, a minimal sense, but what type of information was it that, in actuality, such an individual as Zwegger would have tried to retrieve from her?

What was his _true_ aim?

If Markson has settled on the decision to conclude from the events of this dawn, the assassin's real motive was to gain Bethany's silence - and to do so in a permanent fashion.

Although it was true that this was done by him too many times by now, but Barnes has refocused his thoughts on the momentary events again; him, Latimer, and the third, almost random bird with his parchment-carrying tube.

Albeit the small-sized owl's wooden-carrier was full of them, the, presumably, messenger-owl did not touched any of the parchments, but, instead, cautiously, yet precisely, lifted a tiny piece of a paper from his cylinder-shaped item, the former appearing to have a hastily-scribed, single solitary sentence on it; howbeit, this, literally "little" message was not meant for Chris (obviously enough), although this could have been _ effortlessly_ deducted from the fact that the messenger, so far, has not took even just a single glance at the ex-marshal.

\- Lieutenant Latimer, sir! - saluted the owl by raising his right wing to the front of his head's top, just above the eyes; a motion with which Markson was more familiar with by this time than not - I am delivering a message from Lance-Corporal Valery; she told me to add that she is currently waiting in the newly designated hollow of, I quote, "our mutual friend, Markson" - alongside of saying this, the bird has handed the small-sized piece-of-a-parchment over (which, when realistically judged from its size, could actually has been categorised as a "note"), saluting again as the Barn owl took it with one foot, holding it with two talons; even after he has finished with his official-gesture towards his, assumably, higher-ranking officer, the messenger still kept himself away from the thoughts of even just taking a short glance in Barnes' direction, which was beginning to become bizarre and just utterly ridiculous to the ex-marshal now.

\- Thank you, Ryley - spoke Latimer, nodding with honest gratitude towards the messenger, who, after acknowledging the Barn owl's gramercy with a similar action, took off, right into the air, from the very spot he was standing on a second ago, creating a noticeable, but minimal gust of wind.

The Lieutenant lifted the note up, in front of his eyes; he gave it a quick read, hummed a few times to himself, then turned his head towards Chris, and began to speak, for yet another time.

\- I believe that it may be time to show you the location of your new, temporary, but, if you choose to, permanent dwelling; oh, and do not worry! - he noted quickly, seeing a question forming in Chris' throat - This time, it is not going to be a cell - and, with this, he motioned with his right talons for the ex-marshal to come along, then did a circular motion with his corresponding wing in the air, turning his head backwards, and shouting an order to a seemingly random owl, but that bird _undeniably_ being a member of the GHID - Sergeant Katalyn! The scene is yours to look after, for now! I should be back in the next ten minutes - finished the Lieutenant, then faced his front again.

Out of sheer eagerness and intense inquisitiveness, Markson also turned his head in a ninety-degree angle, just to take a quick glance at who exactly this "Sergeant Katalyn" was.

To his most massive astonishment, this owl - a female, may we add - turned out to be the exact same bird who has reprimanded and held Barnes back at Ambala, right after the moment when the poor, late Bethany went into a type of fit.

Albeit she has, unequivocally, treated the ex-marshal as some kind of suspect, maybe even a minor enemy, back at that lightning-stuck birch-tree, Chris could now have sworn that this "Sergeant Katalyn" has sent some form of a light smile towards him, and, this being even more offbeat, winked.

One of the most unusual actions Markson has seen today; this one causing a more substantial mix of surprise and shock than Zwegger ending his own life, just minutes ago, which, of course, by now, has felt like hours.

Barnes could now feel how _truly_ exhausted he was - both physically and mentally; after all, the amount of information and happenings his brain was required to process in the past hours could have been _easily_ overwhelming for anyone.

There were two things that he personally required right now - rest, and time; the former to allow his brain to regain its full functionality and capability, and the latter to sit in total solidarity, in a silent environment, with nothing else, but his own thoughts.

So that he could give his current situation a proper think - do a bit of _cogitation_ on a few matters; this world, Bethany, Zwegger, the CIA, and the PSRI...

_A tremendous amount to contemplate about_.

However, what he _did_ knew was that, once he and Latimer would reach that one specific hollow to meet up with Valery, a, hopefully, long night's (or, in this case, long day's) rest was awaiting him.


	14. A New Life in an Ancient Town

**A new chapter - another additional to the main plot.  
****Hm; nothing special to state, really...**

_**I do not own the Guardians of Ga'Hoole series.  
****I take all characters that do not belong to Kathryn Lasky as my own characters and creations.**__**  
**__**The Federal Air Marshal Service and the Transportation Security Administration are not my creations.**_

A New Life in an Ancient Town

_Upper-Tree Branches, Great Ga'Hoole Tree, Southern-Kingdoms_

_Close to 5:35 a.m._

_Christopher Barnes Markson, ex-TSA_

The path Chris and Latimer took (on their feet, of course) to reach the hollow that Valery, in all likelihood, _has_ described in her little note, or message (it all depended on one's preferences) has only robbed the two of about ten minutes from their entire lifetime - maybe even just seven or six, in fact; it was one of those journeys that have, in an individual's mind, felt like an absolute of not just one, but _two_ eternities, while, in reality, their _actual_ length was probably around short, five-minute stroll.

Of course, the ex-marshal and his companion have only perceived the passing of time as such, because there was an all-too-obvious lack of a conversation, or any type of verbal interaction between themselves.

The way they took, winding all around the in- and outside of this gigantic tree was unnaturally and awfully silent, reflecting the shock and the enormous impact the _very_ recent occurrences have had on this island's population and inhabitants; however, there was no possible way with which Chris could have came to the realisation that he was incorrect.

After mentioning - well, more of a "bringing up, and suddenly", if we would wish to be pedantic here - the question in the middle of their somewhat, awkwardly taciturn travel, it turned out rather swiftly that there was a much less complex answer, when directly compared to Markson's theory.

\- I clearly would have no idea about the natural and generally expected behaviour of your... well, as I was told, "original species", who apparently _have_ resembled the race we call the Others, but _us_, owls, are, what we call, "nocturnal", and this means that... - Latimer began his "educational-lecture", but was intercepted by Chris' following words.

\- Yeah, yeah, I do know what "nocturnal" means - seeing that this has caused a yet unpronounced question to form in Latimer's head, Markson hurried his personal process of, to put simply, "coming up with an answer" - Momentary amnesia, I guess; you know, forgetting this and that for a short moment? - he attempted to clarify the source of his sudden knowledge, and, hoping that this would present his latter sentence as something more believable, Barnes concluded his words with an unsure smile.

As a response to this, the Barn owl has just, without any preliminary or further comments, shrugged, and, until they have finally arrived at their destination - the hollow - not just a word, but not a simple audible sound could have been heard between the ex-marshal and the Lieutenant.

It was as if the saddening calamity and the respectful grief that poor Bethany's unanticipated assassination has lead to has now, in its entirety, mercilessly descended upon Barnes' brain, which was already enough distressed with a collection of other thoughts of issues - passive, yet still deeply emotional mourning would have been the last thing he would have needed now, but he could not help it.

And it was this that was holding the ex-marshal's words back in their metaphorical tracks: leeching away his natural urge to discuss and settle on a decision on such horrific, but nevertheless crucial matters; and even though he and Latimer have managed to converse about the deserved death of Zwegger (which was, to some extent, controversial, as there truly should have been no one granted with a higher level of power, with which they could be the judge of "who should live, and who should die"), the unexpected murder of the, assumedly, ex-CIA Spotted owl (and Chris felt the latter to be a deliberate action), was not even attempted to be brought up by the Barn owl.

To sum this up in a shortened style, it was the larger portion of the above mentioned that was troubling Barnes, however, due to his, essentially, own self, he was unable, and _unwilling_, to be the first to commence a discussion on the topic.

Even worse, Markson could not read emotion from the Lieutenant's face, and was indecisive towards any of his personal theories on the former. But then again, Latimer... how possibly could Chris has had knowledge about anything that was going on in the bird's head?

After all, this was the precise intention and entire concept of private-thoughts.

Either way, for now, Chris would have preferred the, so far, dominant silence to maintain its current position.

It was actually a somewhat incredible as how the ex-marshal's brain has managed to process so many thoughts in such a little time span; it took him a few seconds to notice, but, when he did so, Barnes had to realise that they have, for the most, successfully reached Latimer's chosen destination: a grand amount of hollows, each appearing to be eerily similar to every other one.

Markson would have been, alone and all by himself, unable to differentiate anything between the massive armada of hollows they have passed by in this moment (he actually gave a half-worth of an effort to count the amount of how many have _visually_ appeared to be the same. Around the number of forty-three, he decided to abandon this hopeless attempt to try to pass his time, as he was assured by his mathematical intuition that there was no point in the attempt of counting up to a thousand, or, if given by the circumstances, note down more than a chiliad); albeit, he has seemed to be overly confident over the fact of in which one of these hollows Valery was awaiting his, and Latimer's, arrival - however, this was presumably because the female owl was standing guard in front of this specific location, practically shouting out to them that they should halt their casual walk _there_.

Even though Markson remembered the Short-eared owl to have been dressed only in... well, plain feathers of their usual creamy-brown and white colour the last time they have met, on this occasion, she has appeared to be not just clothed, but also, armed - the latter was of a similar fashion to Latimer; a medieval-styled leather belt was tied around her feathered waist, this item itself bearing the colour of dark-black.

Hanging from it, surprisingly stably, was a kind of "lightweight dagger-sheath of the same material, but this holster, when it came to the matter of the official colour-spectrum, had more of a brown touch to it, when compared to the previously mentioned belt.

As it would have been naturally expected, there _was_, in fact, a dagger sheathed in the scabbard, this weapon being not much of a contradistinction from what the Lieutenant has insisted on handing over to Chris, back at the scene where Zwegger has... _expired_.

Nonetheless, this particular edged-weapon the Lance-Corporal was carrying on herself has appeared to be of a higher quality, with a barely-decorated, discreet, and short cross-guard, and metal grip, which, at the first glance, did looked to be more solid than its leather-wrapped cousin; the blade, obviously, was not visible, due to the actual sheath of the weapon covering up the rather sharp and lethal sections.

On Valery's head, the blue, Renaissance-era beret, which Barnes has now began to categorise as somewhat iconic (for those GHID owls) took its place, appearing to perfectly fit the female bird's head; although he did not noticed at the first sight, but Barnes could now see a tiny-sized, silver-coloured leaf on the headwear's right side (of course, the ex-marshal was thinking of the position from Valery's perspective), the now faint shine of the dawn's stars reflecting back from its metallic surface; Markson has assumed it to be some form of a badge, as it looked sophisticated enough to be something of an actual importance.

On the top of this blue beret, a lone, but majestic-looking feather of a crow was dangling in an unstable manner, as if it was about to float off from the headwear in any given second; surprisingly enough, as much as Chris was expecting it to, the feather has not done as such, and held its elevated position in a proud manner, not submitting to the rules of gravity - momentarily, the ex-marshal was thinking that it must have been _very_ strongly attached to the beret.

When Markson and Latimer were in a quite close vicinity to Valery, the female Short-eared owl has turned her head to spot them, giving way for a light, relaxed, and pleasant smile; even though she was attempting with her hardest to, visually, _seem_ pleased at the sight of the two birds, Barnes was indubitably assured by his brain's interpretation that, in reality, the Lance-Corporal may not have been as delighted as she has shown herself to be.

Chris suspected the recent happenings to have been a reason for this, but decided to not venture into conversational-topics that, in their current statuses, could result to be rather... sensitive.

Of course, the ex-marshal knew that it was only a matter of quickly passing time until he would be required to recall _every single_ precise detail of what actually has occurred in the hollow, which _was_ (once again, in heavily-emphasised past tense) serving as Bethany's temporary dwelling - at least, this was what Barnes was expecting to happen.

As they have approached the Lance-Corporal, she, all too suddenly - in Markson's opinion - tensed all of her muscles, stomped with her right foot, and began to talk while she has executed a movement that was supposed to show the requisite amount of respect towards her outranking superior.

\- Lieutenant Latimer, sir! - she saluted with her right wing, bringing the flight-organ up to the front-side tip of her beret; Chris noted this physical action down to be, at least, a little bit peculiar, as the female bird's fluid motion, when saluting, was rather similar to the style with which Byran has done his own, back when Latimer has saved Barnes from almost being successfully apprehended by sedation.

However, he has not heeded too much attention towards this little detail, as he believed that _coincidences_ still occurred on a daily rate, and were a perfectly and seamlessly acceptable concept - that is, for the _most_ of their times, but never always.

_There was not a single thing in life that was _always_ doubtlessly unobjectionable_.

The Barn owl's reaction towards his, presumably, subordinate's ordinary salute was simple, and yet, unanticipated by the ex-marshal: the male bird gave out that weird and unusual "avian-chuckle" - the one that sounded as if the owl was _churring_ \- then shook his head with a sympathetic and relaxed smile taking its place on his face; due to this, the Short-eared owl has lowered her wing, and folded it in its natural position.

\- Lance-Corporal Valery, you never fail to disappoint; even when you are expected to! - spoke the Barn owl casually, as if this kind of talk was his ordinary, everyday-routine.

Although it did take Barnes a few seconds to realise the _true_ meaning of the above mentioned, and, to him, it turned out that, indeed, Latimer _was_ just simply attempting to create a more light and laid-back atmosphere with his previous sentence.

\- Sir, I consider it my _absolute_ duty to maintain the respect that is to shown to each levels and stages of the chain-of-command - she responded with a half-smile, looking like as if she was about to let an, otherwise, heavily-restricted chuckle out; as Markson has took a swift glance over at the Lieutenant, he had to recognise that, on the Barn owl's face, the exact same, non-hostile grin has took its appearance.

For an unknown reason presently unidentified by Chris, Valery and Latimer kept a bizarre, almost non-existent, and short pause between themselves, then, a moment later, the female-side took herself to be the one to continue.

\- I appreciate you bringing Markson up here, Latimer; I was dearly hoping that my message would reach you quickly enough - as a regular response to this, the Lieutenant just gave a light wave with one of his wings.

\- Any time you require my services, Lance-Corporal - he bowed comically to the female owl, who, if she would have been physically able to, would have been likely to roll her eyes - As you have mentioned beforehand, "chain-of-command"... - the Barn owl took on a serious facial expression, and formed the symbol of "quotation marks" with two of his right talons, but it was rather clear that this was only a part of his increasingly awkward act.

Chris had not a clue on what the Lieutenant was possibly trying to achieve here, but there was one thing he was, without question, confident about: _whatever_ it was, it was becoming more and more uncomfortable as the seconds have passed.

\- It would appear that it has only took Ryley a rough estimation of... - she paused for a second here, and buried herself in her thoughts for this short amount of time, concluding with a number when she finished - ...Four minutes to hand my note over; I would say that his speed is developing - said Valery, and, suddenly, shifted to an entirely different topic and matter - I hope that you do not mind if I take Markson away from your company here and now - requested the bird, to which Latimer was quick to agree to; however not impolitely-quick, as if he had wanted to know the ex-marshal away from himself as soon as possible.

It was really his nod that could have been categorised as "swift".

\- Certainly; after all... - sighed the Lieutenant with the effortlessly detectable emotion that signalled that he was, shortly, about to engage in an activity which he might not have been that keen on accomplishing - This mad-owl's rampage has demanded three lives today, and, since I was the highest-ranking officer on the scene at the time when that... _idiot_ Byran has almost took Markson into custody, Gareth will expect me to give him a written report about this incident - he shook his head, almost as if he was hit by a sudden wave of grief - I better get going sooner, rather than later - nodded Latimer towards both Barnes and Valery; the former responded with the same gesture, and the latter has bid her farewell with the exact same action she has greeted the Lieutenant with.

Of course, by nothing else, but weirdly military-resembling salutation; this, apparently, the Barn owl has found rather hilarious; therefore, it was clear that the female owl has perfectly achieved her aim.

\- You know, when you did it for the first time, I actually had to reconsider if you were being serious, or not! - commented Latimer on the Short-eared owl's witty "goodbye", silently chuckling to himself as he flapped twice with his wings, ascending into the air without a single hitch, almost as if his bones' weight were planned for these kinds of movements (which, from a physiological perspective, they technically were).

\- You see, Latimer, I find it rather entertaining how you pretend to be a low-ranking officer in my vicinity! - stated Valery in the middle of that _churring_ noise - Ever attempted that with Colonel Gareth around? - this time, she allowed a proper chuckle to be let loose, an action which the Lieutenant has decided to share with.

\- Have I ever told you, Valery, that your humour is simply magnificent? - shouted Latimer his rhetorical question from above, so that both birds, who were still standing on the platforms, could properly hear; not waiting for an answer that never would have came anyway, he took off in a direction that was facing away from the Lance-Corporal, and the ex-marshal.

In a matter of two, perhaps three, seconds, Latimer has disappeared from the ex-marshal's sight, flown off towards a different location of this "Great Tree", where he, as pronounced by the owl before, will attend to his further duties.

Right now, it was only Markson and Valery left here, and Chris has now, expectantly, turned towards the female owl, inquiring about a trivial matter that has arose in his brain just a minute ago.

\- What was that about? - questioned Barnes, clueless about what actually has took place between the Lieutenant, and the Lance-Corporal; he was unsure about the meaning of the recent... _act_ that Latimer has presented - I mean, in my world, we would categorise this as "flirting"; I assume that the same expression is in use here as well? - he added to narrow down his question to a more specific are-of-interest.

\- Well, here, that would be called "fliving", and I highly doubt that Latimer, who still is the mate of a female Barn owl known as _Caroline_, would be randomly courting with other members of _his_ opposite gender - the Short-eared owl produced a sound that has reminded Chris of a combination of a hearty laughter, and a slightly-annoyed sigh.

\- Ah, _damn_, I did not intended to be irreverent or anything... - attempted Markson to back out, but considered it to be too late by now; if his words have, unfortunately, did managed to hurt the female bird's feelings, there was nothing he could do against it now.

Nevertheless, as it turned out, what the ex-marshal was momentarily afraid off was, once again, not quite happened in the way in which he has expected it to.

\- Even if I would have found your statement to be somewhat hostile, I would have allowed it to slide; however, if to anyone, you should take your apology to Latimer himself. Although I doubt that his emotions would be so _drastically_ affected by your comment - she narrowed her eyes as she spoke in a partially scolding, and partially sarcastic manner, and, after thinking for a short while with her eyes closer, the owl continued on with her sentences - You see, Latimer has this, what I would consider, a _fairly_ unique sense of humour, albeit he only uses it when he understands the specific circumstances relaxed and tranquil; otherwise, he sticks with his professional-style, and can be as emotionally-untouched as a solid stone. But it might only seem this way because he would usually interpret a situation from a... pragmatic-perspective - concluded Valery with a now neutral expression on her face.

\- I will keep that in mind - responded Markson, not _actually_ being able to come up with a better answer to the female owl's previous statement, therefore, he decided to stick with the decision of re-directing the entire conversation to the original subject - So... you have wished to show me something? A... "hollow", from what I have heard? - he inquired, paying additional attention to his the second word in his latter sentence; although he could almost feel how absolutely _ridiculous_ it must have sounded from his beak, the ex-marshal has placed extra emphasis on it, hoping that it would not make him sound too _flippant_ towards the subject.

\- Indeed - she replied with one, sole word - You could not _possibly_ imagine how quick information can spread; by the time you have managed to incapacitate Bethany's assassin, I already have been informed of some type of... "on-foot" chase going on at the Upper-Branches by three different officers - she spoke, and, in the meantime, decided to take her beret off; she reached above her head-level with her right talons, then, when she was done with this, the female owl has tucked the mentioned headwear between her own waist, and her leather-belt, so that the tight hold of the former would not allow the (if pedantically categorised) "hat" to drop down onto the wooden platform they were both standing on - My deepest and most sincere condolences about Bethany; she has... definitely not deserved such a death - she shook her head slowly, but lifted it back up soon enough - For now, we cannot do anything more than what we take as proper procedure; cleaning up the scene, searching after evidence, and identifying possible sources of information. However, this is not what I wanted to stress you about - she switched the topic suddenly, but, if he would have been required to be honest, Markson would have declared that he did not honestly mind - If you follow me inside, I will walk you through with the "what is what" inside your new, private-hollow - Valery signalled for the ex-marshal to walk along, who did as such, and stepped through an almost too-narrow opening in the bark.

Those individuals out there, who consider themselves to be in the possession of an extremely lively mind and an impressive imagination most likely would have been disappointed by the dull-as-dishwater sight of the hollow's internal space, which awaited and greeted Markson as he and the female owl have entered; of course, the ex-marshal himself was not planning on the essential's of his new dwelling to be of a first class suite's of a luxurious, five-star hotel (however, he still had some minimal hope), and entirely comprehended to the fact that this place was, after all, just the inside of a tree - how comfortable or pompous could it even be in the first place?

At a more lengthy inspection, Chris came to think that this hollow did not actually differed that heavily, when judged from a visual-perspective, from the location where he has first met Felias; if there were any things that obviously were not alike, those were the physical shape, the empty and usable space, and the initial, so-called "furnishing" of this habitat.

If it would have been drawn as a sketch, the outline of the hollow itself would have seemed more "regular" than "irregular", its wooden-walls appearing to have an almost perfectly circular-shaped form, only diverting from a naturally-accepted circle here and there, with a few outcrops and indentations.

Although at the time of his first and latest visit, the ex-marshal has found Felias' hollow to be _consummately_ crammed up with the owl's, presumably, important papers and sheet-mountains, Barnes imagined that, maybe some long time ago, when a _different_, less unsympathetic bird has occupied the living space, it might have been just as empty as the dwelling, on which Markson was currently gazing upon, currently was; yes, there were a few easily recognisable items and objects lying here and there, then, also, some rather foreign-shaped... things - Chris was, in a minor way, ashamed by not being capable of finding a better word to label these unknown items with.

But then again, when surrounded by a world which was only _moderately_ comparable and relatable to his own, old one, what compulsory deed could he have done?

In the far right corner of the circular hollow (albeit this statement, technically, would have been, when pronounced in front of a geometry-class, totally nonsensical), the ex-marshal has spotted something that his mind has deemed to be familiar, and, almost right away, he realised what he was actually staring upon: a bird's nest, particularly an owl's, consisting of what has seemed like a mixture of soft feather-downs, and equally as velvet-like moss.

From that point on, Barnes began to suspect that his so sought-after and desired, full-night's (or day's) sleep might not happen just as smoothly as he has originally expected it to; despite the undeniable fact that the nest _did_ appeared to be (and, logically, should have been) rather comfortable, and the time when he was still imprisoned, and he could not help but rest while he was standing on both of his feet, Markson was completely unsure of how he was going to do this; he found it too embarrassing to state such a question to Valery, and, therefore, he was stuck with the not-always reliable option of improvisation.

Nevertheless, this specific problem was yet to arise; Chris decided it to be wise to might as well _not_ dwell on it for as long as it was affordable.

\- So, what should we begin with? - asked Valery in a rhetorical style, glancing from one corner of the hollow to the other; there was not that much to see, but Markson would still have appreciated a bit of a walkthrough in the, as the female owl has mentioned beforehand, "what is what" category - Standard hollow, if you ask me: you have a nest, and a branch hanging in from the outside, so you can sleep in whichever way you prefer - she raised a talon to point towards the feather-bed that Chris has already noticed, just a few seconds ago - A small shelf, for books, obviously - nodded Valery towards a wooden-fabrication; it was almost like a man-made shelf, only that it has seemed to appear somewhat more _rough_, and a bit irregular as well. Nevertheless, it probably still served its purpose; as a result of which, there was really no point to criticise, or to complain - You can either request volumes from the library, directly, or note any of your current thoughts down on _those_ sheets - she pointed towards a smaller stack of clean-and-clear parchments with her right wing, which took their position on the top of the "bookshelf"; also, she has expanded this little bit of information with an additional statement - Irvis suggested it; he said that it might come in handy later on. So... just use it as you wish to; you will be able to find a scribe-stand over there. Its usage pretty self-explanatory, to be honest - she gestured towards a furnishment that, once again, brought back memories of Felias' hollow to the ex-marshal.

The bird gave another quick scan for the hollow, and highlighted a few more points that she has found worthy to mention.

\- You have a fire-grate over there - she gestured with her wing towards an object that has looked like the lower half of a metal cage - But I would only use it, in your place, when the worst side of winter comes around; at a later date, I will show you how to fill it up, then how to ignite it - Valery has turned her head around in both directions, probably just to see if there was anything else to introduce; after a short moment, the female owl has carried on in a style that clearly stated that there was nothing else to be introduced to Markson - ...And I believe that to be all; for now, at least - she concluded with a fairly standard conclusion.

\- Thanks for the introduction - showed the ex-marshal his standard level of appreciation - What comes now? - he inquired, suspecting that Valery was still in this hollow for a very specific reason; otherwise, why else would she have decided to stick around, just for a bit longer? From what Chris has learnt about her so far, such an action would have been in an absolute contrast with her personality.

\- A good-light story; what else would you expect? - she chuckled at her own sarcasm, and diverted onto the topic which she, by reasonable assumption, was originally planning on discussing - Now, even though I personally dismissed this a few hours ago, the High-Council still will, _officially_, class you as a suspect and potential offender, for now; until a further decision is made, you will have to be constantly guarded by a selected warden - she paused for a moment, then gave a sharp look to Barnes - I would have kept Lyran by your side, but, taking that he has almost bled out from that wound, he will be unavailable for a few days - her words have struck as heavily and mercilessly as a still extremely-hot hammer of a blacksmith, however, this was not intended by Valery to happen; it was the ex-marshal's brain that has realised that, for the past thirty minutes or so, he _entirely_ forgot about the sympathetic Barn owl - for all he knew, the bird might have even _died_ from the laceration he has suffered by Zwegger's claws.

„How could you forget about him, you idiot!", he reprimanded himself inside his own head, too afraid of making his words to be heard on this matter; after all, his carelessness has almost led to the death of one who _definitely_ has not yet deserved, or was aged enough, to be casted into the abyss of whatever came after one's death.

If Lyran would not have been lucky enough, his death might as well have been scribed onto Chris' metaphorical „bill".

\- In the heat of the moment, I... - he began with a weak excuse of an apology, and was almost immediately halted by Valery, who, peculiarly enough, did not come down on Markson as bad as the ex-marshal has originally expected her to.

\- If Lyran would have been a fresh recruit in that "heat of the moment", he would not be among us by now - she narrowed her eyes again, giving Chris a gaze that was actually somewhat difficult to stand up against - Nonetheless, he is alive, and, currently, there would be no point in getting stuck in pointless arguments; that is why I am willing, for this one time, to overlook your mistake - the female has moved significantly closer to the ex-marshal, almost leaning into his face - It may be that you are not from _this_ world, but that does not means that you should disregard the lives of those who are, does it? - this sudden rise of strictness in the owl's tone has caught Barnes off-guard; but that did not mean that he was unable to respond.

\- As far as I am concerned, no, it does not - responded the ex-marshal; all in the while, he forced himself to keep up the facial gesture of neutrality, not wishing to tip the ends of the scale in neither of the possible directions now.

\- I am glad - nodded Valery, her eyes still narrowed, but not as much as they were before; Markson decided to take this as a gratifying-sign, hoping that this _did_ mean that no extreme grudges were about to be kept against him - Then, for now, this is everything you need to know - sighed the Short-eared owl, stepping away from Chris' direct vicinity - As I have already mentioned, the Council will assign a warden to your side until Lyran manages to recover in the infirmary; if you require either mine, or Irvis' presence, you will be able to ask that warden to fetch any of us, when needed - she concluded, and, from the massive range of physical actions she could have done in that moment, the female owl has, surprisingly, settled with a yawn - Now, if you excuse me, I will now go and attend to my own businesses; hopefully, I will not fall asleep while writing my reports - she gave a light smile, something that the ex-marshal has considered to be a pleasant contrast to her rather negative mood, which she has placed into practice just a few moments ago.

\- I guess I will see you around later, then - spoke Barnes, and watched as the female Short-eared owl has nodded again, with very much identical smile, just like her previous one, then, not so long after, took a ninety-degree turn-around, and began to walk towards the hollow's entrance (which has now served as an exit), taking every single step in a notably unhurried fashion, as if there was something else that was lingering around in her mind.

All of a sudden, the bird has spun around to face the ex-marshal again, and began to speak; her words sounded sincere enough for Markson to not make a witty comment, albeit the true and genuine tone of her voice was next to impossible to judge.

\- Oh, and before I go... - she began, then, immediately, took a second to pause and to recollect her thoughts (at least, this was what she, presumably, might have been doing); after the above specified short period of time, the owl has continued on - Us, Guardians, have something that is almost like a tradition to us, however, due to, particularly, the circumstances of your arrival and its aftermath, no one actually has told you this yet but... - she straightened herself (as much as a bird was able to do this), and gave her statement in an official, almost ceremonial-style - Markson, welcome to the Central Kingdom of Ga'Hoole! - and, with this, she gave another, conclusive nod towards the ex-marshal, then, in less than five seconds, has turned and left the hollow; this time, ultimately for that specific day.

With only his own self left - alone, may we loudly emphasise - in the hollow, which he could now count as his own personal and private dwelling, a sense of indecisiveness and tentativeness has descended upon Chris; he was unsure on what his next action or interaction should be, and, even though he was hoping on earning himself a greater collection of hours, in which's time-span he would have been able to sleep for a comfortable and sufficient amount of time, just around twenty minutes ago, somehow, he has now ceased to physically, or mentally, feel himself tired or exhausted - it was as if his urge to descend into this rejuvenating state of unconsciousness has, without a single _polite_ word of warning, has just suddenly disappeared, leaving Barnes in this state of irresoluteness.

He carried out the decision of taking a swift glance around, determined to spot something that might have been able to occupy his mind's interest for more than, at least, thirty-to-forty minutes.

Unsurprised by its obviousness, he could not help but to, eventually, settle his gaze on the small pile of empty parchments that Valery has previously highlighted to him as one of the "more essential" objects, or, in this case, collection of objects, that this hollow had inside; fully comprehending to the fact that, for now, he was rather short on alternative activities (in fact, he could not think of a single one), Markson started to take up a casual pace-of-movement, and began to leisurely walk towards the, as it was officially labelled by the Valery beforehand, _shelf_.

Upon arriving to the above mentioned "furnishment", Barnes has managed to discover that, fortunately, a rather large-sized feather, which was presumably here to aide one who was wishing to write, and a small glass-orb, filled with ink, and assisted to stay standing by three, tiny wooden-legs (much like the one Chris has, quite a few hours ago, spotted in, once again, Felias' dwelling), were both included in the "welcome to your brand new hollow" first-timer package.

Nevertheless the fact that these, shall we call them, „pre-modern age stationery-equipment", were clearly and easily accessible to the Markson, there was only a single problem he was, somewhat awkwardly, still trying to successfully figure out a solution to in his mind - and this was on the matter of "how to write with four claws and talons".

After all, if the ex-marshal was interpreting this correctly, he, more or less, would have been required to write with his right _foot_ (he personally believed that, since he was right-handed as a human, this has meant that, now, his right talon could have been considered the dominant one), which, next to sounding outright _impossible_, has also appeared to him as rather uncomfortable.

However, Chris entirely understood that he had no other choice for now; he had already made his mind up, and was going to cross this bridge here and now, however difficult it might happen to be.

With a minimal shade of reluctance on his beaked face, Barnes has reached up with his right talons, took a hold of a single sheet of blank paper, the feather-quill, _and_ the ink-bottle - in the exact same time (this, Markson has personally considered to be just a temporary, yet ridiculously-helpful turn in the laws of physics).

Cautiously balancing the three objects while standing on the ground with one foot only, the ex-marshal has carefully set everything down on the hollows natural, wooden surface; shortly after, he proceeded to carry everything over to the "scribe-stand" - another object-of-interest that Valery has specifically mentioned while she was still in here - and, when he was done, Chris has stepped upon the weirdly ergonomic perch, which he has, only now, noticed to have been veiled in a type of soft, red-coloured velvet.

"I swear, if this place _will_ turn out to be a five-star hotel..." he thought as he shook his head in a mild mix of amazement and disbelief; he ran his right talons on the surface of the expensive-looking fabric, raising his feathery-eyebrows in a surprised manner as the fact, that this velvet was _this_ silky and delicate, has reached his brain.

He, now practising additional care when stepping up onto the velvet-covered perch, helped himself into the scribe-stand's elevated position, and started to meticulously arrange the three items he has brought with himself into their desired spots; first off, he straightened out his paper-sheet, paying extra attention for the object to not slide off from its position.

As for the second item, it was the ink-bottle that was awarded with its right- and respectful position at the bottom-right corner of the scribe-stand, where an actually quite stable-looking, horizontally-positioned board was conveniently placed, so that the former "stationery-equipment" would not spill ink everywhere, unless it was, either deliberately, or by accident, pushed over with one's wings or talons.

And, for the last, there was the quill, which, in this specific case, was going to accomplish itself as a "pen"; Markson has just assigned the undermost-edge of the stand to this larger-than-usual owl's feather, where a small-but-efficient wooden-outcropping was fixed, probably to prevent a singular, or multiple sheets from sliding down and away - if positioned on such a spot, the ex-marshal believed that his writing-instrument will be _just_ stable, and sound.

However, he could not test out this well-thought-out position's long-term reliability, as now, that he had every single item where he had wanted them to be, Chris raised the quill, and gave it a careful, and yet, still rather long dip in the ink-bottle.

"Well then, you... _paper_", he thought to himself, feeling his talons shaking from a form of nervousness - of what he was worried about, he did not know; could it have been the fear of being unable to write like this, as an owl? So that his thoughts will keep on stacking up in his head; an endless mountain of stress and problems, which, eventually, would expand into the concept of madness itself?

Barnes honestly did not know, but, momentarily, forced himself to not even care; he was going to, _whatever matters might arise midway through_, put words on the paper that was in front of him - even if he had to _scribble_ those sentences down at the end!

"Here goes nothing!", Markson could hear his own, actually non-audible words echo inside his skull, a strange feeling of nostalgia, and a surge of unknown instincts washing over him as he placed the inky-feather against the paper.

He watched with a mixture of mild confusion and sheer astonishment as the letters _he_ put down on the parchment came together into a set of beautifully-written words, their layout and visual appearance looking like as if the ex-marshal would have been writing as an owl in his entire life; despite the fact that he could not honestly comprehend to the fact of how this could have occurred, Chris redirected his mind to the task of "noting down his thoughts onto a piece of paper", too afraid that, if he would allow himself to lose his momentary focus for even just a single second, his currently _remarkable-looking_ letters and words would _degenerate_ into a lowly and barely-readable scribble.

Therefore, although it originally _has_ felt somewhat unnatural to the ex-marshal, he has now allowed himself to just go along with these... instinctive-motions of writing; and so, on he proceeded, noting down everything he could recall about a specific topic he now chose to preserve in a written form - and this matter was what he decided to refer to as the "Bethany-Murder".

An approximate amount of thirty minutes have passed by; the sun's first rays began to gently stroke the outer-rim of the hollow's exit- and entry-opening, painting most of its inside-area with an orange- and yellow-tinge, bathing Barnes' heavily-focused face with the latter colours, and with natural sunlight.

Markson lowered the quill that he was still, now rather stiffly, holding with his right talons, barely being that much distant from dropping it, and carelessly allowing it to slowly soar downwards, and, eventually, softly land on the ground.

It was doubtless that, for the past half-an-hour, he held out valiantly against the _cramp_ that began to cruelly and gradually build up inside his right talons' muscles, however, in the current moment; he could not help, but to give his stronger foot an almost-violent shake, then, to actually relax the muscles that were affected by the extensive stress of writing, gave his right talons a relieving stretch.

The ex-marshal has now glanced upon the two entire pages he managed to fill up with his, currently, somewhat-troubled-mind's words; with the amount he wrote, he actually succeeded in surprising himself - he almost was not willing to believe that, although in a moderately-lengthy time-window, he was able to note down this much.

Still feeling himself way too aware and "awake", Markson decided that he might be able to, even if just a little bit, doze off, if he would give a quick read to the entirety of what he wrote on the now not-so-empty parchment.

He flipped the sheet around, so that the top of the page would be at the exact-beginning of where he had started to write; when he considered his eyes to be prepared for the reading-task - which were, to the ex-marshal's most tremendous satisfaction, becoming somewhat more heavier and tired as the minutes kept on passing by - Chris proceeded to recite his own words, however, not out loud, but, instead, inside his head; in his thoughts.

_Approximately five days after the 23rd of October, 2014; notes of Christopher Markson, quondam-agent of the TSA._

_All the expert and most professional military- and federal-training of the entire world would have failed to prepare me for the situation which I am currently involved in._

_Hell, I would have labelled my own self as demented, if I had ever came up a theory that such a world, let alone such an astonishing species, was currently in existence; and yet, here I am, writing these words, still somewhat unable to comprehend to the occurrences of the past days._

_After that plane crashed... coming to my senses - learning that I am actually alive - would have been the last and uttermost thing that I would personally have expected; then again, nothing could have readied me, in both body and mind, for the realisation that, along with being... "crossed over" into this somewhat surreal world, I would also awake as an owl - a bird, an avian creature._

_I doubt that any of my human peers will manage to get their hands on these notes and read them - either before or after my death - therefore, I must explain what the... knowing of an otherwise foreign, and weirdly different body physically, and mentally, feels like._

_There is a vague sense of comprehension here and there, almost as if this... form... would have been the one I was living my life with so far - however, this specific perception is not always there to be found; occasionally, I would get stuck on simple movements, such as walking in a civilised fashion, and yet, sometimes, in moments such as the current one to me, everything comes naturally, as if they were build up from years and years of instinctive-motions - I mean, technically, at this time, I am marking down these sentences with an almost nonchalant-doing, all in the while using my foot to do so._

_Still, for me, there appears to be this... "sense of emptiness" - as if something is absent from me, or I am missing something's presence, which was either never here, or is just not anymore._

_I... do not know - I kept such thoughts as my own, when it came to the individuals I have met in this world; whatever my problem may be, they do not have to know about it._

_Then again, neither do I truly know what this issue is - do I?_

_Nevertheless, I do not consider my words of... emotional and mental distress to be important or worthy enough to waste the free space on these papers I am writing on; ergo, my topic now must divert._

_After all, I have dedicated these pages to the peculiar case of Miss Bethany Losold._

_Now, I must admit, that the actions I have committed at my arrival to this place have been rather... unethical towards a few, specific individuals (whom I will now not name); this matters not as much now, however, as my presence was, for reasons that are still yet unclear to me, requested in a, what I just refer to as, "murder-investigation"._

At this point, he took a second to flip the now already, fully-read page over, so that he could continue on its other side.

_With methods that would take me years to properly explain, I was transported, along with a few other of these owls, to a region they prefer to refer to as "Ambala", and, there, I was able to personally meet with a bird who was regarded both as a suspect, and, to a rare few, as a victim as well._

_To me... well, it became clear to me the moment I saw her that she was innocent - however, not as much as one would have expected her to be; she was deceitful enough to appear and sound believable. This, I liked in her._

_That was the case until I was left alone with her in the same hollow; then and there... it turned out who she really was._

_Losold has revealed herself to be much like me - a human, "trapped" in an owl's body - then went ahead, and explained her "story" to me._

_Apparently, poor and innocent Bethany was an active agent for Langley (although, she denied the fact that she was with the CIA all along our conversation), who, during an investigation into this pharmaceutical-company, the PSRI's private-businesses, began to dig around for evidence in locations where she should never have gone to; from what she could recall from her vivid memories, Losold has suspected that she, albeit not openly, but was, still, caught by the company while investigating their... suspicious internal affairs, who, although not blew her cover, still managed to strike back on the CIA operative in a way._

_She told me that she found documents that referred to an item only known as the "Anomaly", and that, allegedly, this... item, was capable of "crossing individuals over" (as she personally labelled the process) from one alternate-universe or -timeline (from where I came from; the real world) to another (which I suspect this place to be) - very... peculiar matters going on here, I must say._

_Sadly, however, before Losold could venture into a more detailed and further explanation than what she gave me in Ambala, she was ruthlessly murdered by another owl, who, unbelievably, and rather disappointingly, was from my own kind._

_Kenneth Zwegger, he called himself, just moments before his death (which he induced by his own talons); the bastard has claimed himself to be an ex-agent and -marine, bringing up the names of such organisations as the FBI, and the Navy SEALs, however, he gave no logical answers that could have suggested a true motive of why he decided to kill Bethany._

_And so, here I am now, contemplating on the "why" and "how", hoping to dispel the madness and chaos that is currently raging inside my brain by further contemplation._

_Trying to understand... of how I have ended up in this place._

Markson turned his head towards the "ceiling" of the hollow, shutting his eyes tightly as he let out an exhausted and painful sigh; he had to force himself with all his remaining power to stay awake while reading, and, he had to admit to himself, that he almost drifted off here and there.

Now that he read through his noted-down words for the first time, he was surprised to find that, when interpreted as a whole, some of his paragraphs did not make as much sense as he has wished them to do; then again, even if he would have, the ex-marshal could not truly blame himself for this - after all, he almost fell asleep, at least three times, while he was writing it.

However, a sudden and unexpected idea has now manifested in his brain, which he has decided to accomplish now; he stepped off from the scribe-stand's velvet-covered perch, and proceeded towards the empty shelf, so that he could acquire another blank and untouched parchment.

When he has successfully done this, Chris walked back to the writing-stand, and climbed up on the perching-rod for another time; he went through the same procedure which he did about thirty, maybe forty minutes ago - he straightened the paper-sheet out, and, attentively, placed it on this "furniture's" writing-pad.

He, almost instinctively, dipped the quill in the ink-bottle, allowing a few dark drops of the liquid to drip back into the glass-sphere before touching the inky-feather against the clear and white surface of the paper; at the top of the page, Barnes has inscribed the three words "_Casualties"_ and_ "Body Count"_, placing the former on the top-left corner of the parchment, and the latter in the top-right corner.

Under the title of "_Casualties_", Markson wrote the name "Bethany Losold", and, beneath the heading of "_Body Count_", he put down the name "Kenneth Zwegger"; he had not a single guess, or assumption of why he had done this, but, then again, in such a half-asleep state, many have done more illogical thing as well - what the ex-marshal has now done could have actually have been counted as something coherent.

Consequently after this, Chris lowered his head, and closed his now heavy eyes, his mind drifting off into an unconscious state, just as he was beginning to contemplate about of what on Earth he has just managed to get himself into.


	15. Epilogue

...**And, with this chapter, I am afraid that we have reached the official end of Part One.  
A premature ending? Maybe, but it had to be done; you see, people, one of my readers actually suggested that I should try myself out at in a fandom writing competition on Inkitt, and, to catch up to the deadline, I had to, temporarily, drop a few chapters out of planned schedule.  
Although, there is a good thing in this as well, because, in my opinion, the plot, in large, will make a _lot_ more sense, especially if Markson's character is given more time to develop.  
**

**And since I already have mentioned it, if anyone would wish to support me in the above mentioned writing competition, I would greatly appreciate all support: to like my story in Inkitt, just go to _inkitt _dot_ com _slash _fandom2_. You will likely find it under the "Latest" tab. There, you should see the outline of a heart, on the left side of the story's icon; clicking the heart will give one "point" to the story.  
If you would consider to support the story in the competition, take my gratitudes in advance!  
**

**However, keep an eye out for Part Two, everyone, as it should come around in the next couple of weeks.  
Also, I would like to say another, massive "thank you" to those who keep me motivated with their reviews and inquiries about the story and its different aspects; guys and girls, you really give me stuff to think about with all your reviews, and I really appreciate that.  
Once again, Part Two should be up before 2015 ends, however, if things would not happen as such, well... I never liked to take chances.  
Therefore, I am wishing, to all of my readers, a Merry Christmas, and a Prosperous New Year!**

_**I do not own the Guardians of Ga'Hoole series.  
****I take all characters that do not belong to Kathryn Lasky as my own characters and creations.**__**  
**__**The Federal Air Marshal Service and the Transportation Security Administration are not my creations.**_

Epilogue

Gregory Marsh was smoking through his fifth cigarette this evening, and his lungs were kind enough to signal that this was, indeed, not one of the better ideas that he came up with in his life; however, instead of just putting out the burning mixture of tobacco and tar, he just simply kept on puffing it away - not that he could have helped it, though! The events of yesterday have already managed to upset him to the point where _no one_ could have ordered him to stop.

He gazed down at the busy and pulsating-with-life streets of Boston through his office's wall-sized windows, watching as the cars whizzed by on the road, dictating an eerily relaxing order and system into the otherwise chaotic-routines of this world; he shook his head, and turned away from the sight that both disgusted, and fascinated him at the same time.

Marsh paced over to his mahogany office-desk, swearing to himself as he could not spot the remote-control to his television, which was probably hidden under the unorganised pile of documents and paperwork that his secretary was too incompetent to sign or complete anyway, in his opinion.

After shoving off a mountain of reports about what the eggheads in the labs began to refer to as the "Anomaly", his hands finally crashed into the familiar shape of the remote switch; picking it up with a victorious grin, he placed his finger on the red button, and applied physical pressure to it, which, almost magically, has managed to bring his television to life.

Seconds after seconds of flicking around on multiple primitive and irrelevant "teleshop" and music-channels, Marsh has ultimately found what he was searching for in the first place - the evening news.

The newsreader has one of those typical, way too simply forgettable faces, his freshly cut hairstyle making him appear like a failed politician; if Gregory would have been in a more casual mood, he might even have considered smiling at the person's appearance.

However, since he was not ever near such an emotional-state, our man just simply began to listen to the reader's monotonous, irritatingly-self-confident voice.

\- Breaking news at this hour; international search-parties have successfully managed to recover the wreck of the recently disappeared InterNat Airlines Flight BR82 - the unsuccessful-politician kept a dramatic pause, something people only do on television nowadays - By this time, it is all too clear that the cause of this tragedy was a terrorist-attack occurring on-board, which, unfortunately, was left unstopped by the two air-marshals on the aircraft - at this note, Marsh has grinned again, satisfied with the fact that, these days, a sizeable bribe could distort the news in any way, shape, for form - A variety of known groups have already claimed responsibility for the attack, however, none of these public announcements were yet accepted by the government officials - the newsreader has switched the papers in his hands for new ones, and diverted onto a different news-topic as he carried on - And now, back to the medical report of a female, who has appeared to have died of a form of haemorrhage just this morning... - at this point, Gregory was not interested enough anymore, and decided to press the red button on the remote again, this time, turning the television off.

Apparently, his plans have worked out as they were supposed to; however, once again, the "Anomaly" slipped out their hands - for yet another time.

Luckily enough, the PSRI's scientists have already reached a form of pinnacle in their research, and were able to send that pesky little CIA-lass' consciousness to the _other side_; and even though this used such a massive amount of their resources that they will require _at least_ eight weeks to recover from this type of a sudden power-usage, on the bright side, they have not got busted by the CIA for the business and scientific-projects they have conducted inside this very building - which were, of course, of... legally-questionable nature, for the most part.

Even if the government-crooks would come to dig around here, well... half of them were already on Marsh's payroll, and the other half did not possess enough determination for such a lengthy and demanding investigation anyway.

He threw the remote-control back on his desk, and retrieved his cell-phone from his suit's inner-pockets; he, with a speed only a real phone-addict could have applied in real life, dialled a number, pressed the "call" button, then waited for the familiar _beeps_ to pass by as he waited for the individual he was ringing to answer the call.

Eight seconds later, a male voice spoke into their side of the call, to which Marsh was quick to respond to.

\- Oswell, do me a favour - he requested from the receiver - Tap into the TSA's systems, and falsify an inspection- and invitation-document for one specific... - Gregory dug around his brain for the correct name - ...Samuel Broyles, please; when you are done, send a report up to my office. You have three hours - and, with this, Marsh has ended the call, and playfully threw his cell-phone in the air, catching it before it would have achieved a dangerous velocity towards the ground.

The next step in his plan was to recruit, or, more "acceptably", enrol Markson's old TSA-supervisor (and personal friend) into their own lines; because, after all, who was better to hunt down a soldier, if not his own, ex-comrade?


End file.
